To Kneel
by Green Eyed Lady
Summary: Not slash, merely the rocky and ill-fated (but still strangely satisfying) friendship of Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, fifth-to-seventh-year. No longer fits in completely with canon (at least, not OotP). Includes fencing, Slytherin politics, banter...
1. Prologue: Final Lash

**A/N: This is "Jobey" with a different account for non-consistent fanfic. My other current fanfic, original short story and novel-in-progress can be viewed under that name. The prologue (which has been revised several times and is the source of much confusion and praise) is set forth in time as compared to the majority of the story. It's just that: a prologue. Doesn't follow a good timeline. Sometimes has spoilers. Is rather vague and sometimes difficult to fully comprehend. Rather slow and doesn't really kick off the plot well.  
  
Disclaimer (which applies to all chapters of To Kneel hereafter, but which I will repeat because I am slightly paranoid and more-than-slightly-moneyless, thus resulting in a dread of finding a Warner Bros lawyer at my door): The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. Why am I doing such a thing? Why does any fanfic author? Mainly because I find her world fascinating, and furthermore my own work is giving me writer's block like one wouldn't believe, not to mention headaches. I will return all characters in fairly decent condition. Songs and quotes are attributed to their authors. No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.   
**  
**P.S. Big thanks to Ms. Rowling for creating these charaters, BTW. *wink***  


  
  


**To Kneel**  


  


_Some consider bent knees a sign of respect, submission, shame..._  


  
  
_Prologue - Final Lash  
  
Day: 26 Month: 12 Year: 1978_  
  
No one had ever said that Severus Snape wasn't dedicated. For one, it wasn't true, but for most people this was only a minor detail; a very major one was the glare, black as eternal universe and twice as chilling. Severus was very good at this glare. Contrary to popular opinion, he didn't practise in front of the mirror. It was simply one of the few things his father had given to him that Severus thanked him for.   
  
But like any dedicated duelist, Severus practised fencing and wandwork in front of a mirror. Although today his practising was rather off-kilter, only masterful because he had done it so often. It was almost sloppy.   
  
The mirror had picked up on this. "A wee bit distracted today, Sev?"  
  
It received a horrible scowl. Severus didn't need much motivation for his scowls, and the mirror's Scottish cackle was more than a little pinch of it. "Shut up. This staff is in a perfect position to crack you to pieces."  
  
"Thinking of your boyfriend?"  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. "He's not my boyfriend, for the hundredth time." This adolescent and thus whiny and unconvincing arguement was replaced by a statement given in a manner more adultish and coolly, as was becoming habitual for him: "In fact" - very icily indeed - "I might add at this juncture that I do not have such things as boyfriends."  
  
"Didn't you see the way he was looks at sweet Miss Boyd when she visits?" giggled the mirror behind him. Severus felt a hot swoop of exasperation. Why must he be stuck in the bedroom with not one but two mirrors, two chatty and giggly mirrors, wizarding ones, no less? Even though Severus vaguely suspected Muggle mirrors did not talk at all. Anyhow, he had enough to think about; "sweet Miss Boyd" was not one of them that needed to be gone over for today. "This one isn't attracted to lads, trust me on that."  
  
"Amazing. I believe that's the first faint glimmer of intelligence I've gotten out of either of you for the past ten years."   
  
His voice was nearly toneless save for a bitterness beyond his years, a bitterness not even near its full capacity, a bitterness that quite silenced his two mirrors.   
  
He was thinking of Remus, of course, and if he hadn't been going through staff drills -- why wasn't the staff focusing his attention, calming him, as it so often did? -- his blood would still be pumping. Images from the night before were flashing through his mind in the more interesting and gruesome and exhilarating of ways.  
  
It hadn't been so bad as he thought it would be.  
  
Severus found it interesting, with mind almost-evenly scattered amongst the staff, Remus Lupin, and his victim the night before. Very interesting, the ironies of it.   
  
They had become... friends... yeah ('_yes',_ Severus corrected himself mentally, _too much time spent with Cletus and Christoph_), that was probably the word for it... due to the staff. This may have been too simple and poetical a way to put it. Strictly, it had not been much due to a staff. But it had something to do with it all.   
  
His victim should have ended things, but instead the victim would reconcile them -- as soon as Severus could sneak over to Lupin Manor, which had to be before holiday ended. So many things tried to end it. Why not? Severus was rather cynically frank on it all. Why should a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, unable to fit in and thus outcasted in one way or another and in more ways than one, be allowed to find something pleasant in each other's company? How dare even voluntary library meetings, let alone -- gasp and die at the thought! friendship!  
  
The world could be so completely stupid. That was about Severus's opinion on it.   
  
He missed Remus badly, which explained a great deal. Why his thoughts were falling into their old habits of being unorganised and unreasonable, fueled by emotion rather than the logic he prided himself on. Why he felt confused and jumbled and lonely. Why he couldn't concentrate on something so simple as a staff sunburst, something he usually could perform more than half-asleep.   
  
They were far from lovers, thank you very much, mirrors-with-too-much-time-on-their-hands and sick-minded-Hogwarts-world (of which it should be said now that this wording as well as other's is Severus's and not neccessarily the narrator's). But Severus had no doubt they had a very special sort of relationship. If friendship was what he had with Cletus and Christoph and Evan and Stella and that Lestrange kid whose first name Severus honestly couldn't remember half the time, and what Remus had with Potter and Black and Pettigrew, then that certainly wasn't it, and Severus didn't mourn the lack of it.   
  
Generally Remus was about the one person in the world he wouldn't mind spending nearly unlimited time with, in spite of -- most likely because of -- the fact their relationship could not be defined. They could be allies one moment, rivals the next, study partners, debaters; they could philosophise, turn straight to confiding in each other things that they never confessed to anyone else, roll right along to discussing some current event, and then be insulting each other fervently before going to a semi-friendly battle of wits, and no one was any the hurt. They had -- Severus's head nearly spun thinking about it -- they had gone through dueling tournaments as partners, had midnight and very forbidden excursions throughout the school (had broke into Liqumbaug's office -- and lived!); had gone through all eighteen volumes of Stephenno Wright but also swam in Rowena's River. There had been hours and hours with very few quite alike -- and yet they had only begun to step past being enemies less than two years ago.   
  
Not half shoddy, especially considering how much of that time had been summer holiday, how much more of it they hadn't spoken.   
  
Severus's stomach felt odd at it. For almost an entire year now, they had been far from whatever-they-were. Remus Lupin had stood by him on what Severus now firmly termed Nightmare Day - that horrible, ghastly day two summers ago - had listened to him and comforted him in ways no one else had ever taken the time to do... Severus had called him a monster, harrassed him, and allowed him to be tortured when it was perfectly within his power to end it.   
  
He, Severus, actually was a git, to put it lightly. He'd not give anyone the satisfaction by admitting it, but he was. The bloody hell had gotten into him?  
  
But he didn't ponder it. Reasons weren't important: results were -- that was his belief, in true Slytherin thinking. More of it was that he was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, and so didn't. Instead he had accepted his punishment -- long months without Remus's companionship, with deep guilt and terrifying service under a certain new regime. But he had atoned, and Severus was very eager to share this with Remus. For once he didn't mind apologising, formerly the loathing of his life, because forgiveness would be very nice.   
  
_If he grants it to you_, Severus reminded himself. _Don't forget what you let Father and Richaden Lupin do... He almost, but not quite, stifled a shudder at the memory. _  
  
Still, there was a strong part of him that firmly believed that such a thing would be given to him. Although he had tried hard to dismiss it as weakness, Severus very much liked what he found in excess within Remus and in very inadequate supply in himself -- that warmth, that understanding.   
  
Sometimes he almost resented it. Was that a dangerous thought to have about the person you were planning to throw yourself upon whose mercy within a few days?   
  
_Day: 29 Month: 12 Year: 1978_  
  
Stupid Longbottoms. Neb-noses, the whole lot of them! Severus Snape fumed. Overprotective, stifling, untrusting, too blind, too annoying, too irritating… the list was a long one. It probably would've been easier to say at Hogwarts for Christmas holiday and sneak out _there_.   
  
Ah, well, it was his final year. Wouldn't have to put up with them much longer.  
  
His father had paid the Longbottom family to board and raise Severus since he was very young and his parents had separated. Severus detested it there - a noisy, brainless, fun-loving, careless lot who seemed to pity him for having no proper parents and for being so "sullen". _Pity_!  
  
Severus smiled ominously, fingering for a moment the Dark Mark on his forearm. He was a Death Eater, one of the Dark Lord's own, and less than three short days ago he had killed his first man. The last thing he needed was patronising pity, and one day those thick-skulled Longbottoms would know it!   
  
For right now, he hadn't much time and might be too late already. The Longbottoms had gone to a neighbour's for dinner and evening, and Severus had convinced them to leave him alone. He finally had a good few hours. He waited a few moments, in case someone came back for a thing forgotten, before fastening his cloak, pulling on dragonhide boots, and Apparating to Lupin Manor.   
  
Luckily he was well-versed in this skill and had been there once before. Otherwise he would had to use Floo Powder, and Frank had an amazing ability to tell when the Powder had been so much as touched. Probably because Frank, too, used it on the sly a great deal - to visit his girlfriend, Alice Jill.   
  
Severus was glad for his preparations in way of over clothing when he popped in front of Lupin Manor. It hadn't been a white Christmas; it had been a grey, slushy, drizzly, and in general, depressing sort of Christmas, with windshield a great deal worse than the actual temperature. Nigol Wood was a backdrop of dreariness. At the very least, the Longbottoms picked a less bleak place to live.   
  
After one rapping of the knocker (which Severus noticed with a frown was made of silver), a sudden skid could be heard on slippery floors, and a very high-pitched squeal of fright.   
  
The house-elf! Severus hadn't been counting on her.   
  
The tiny elf opened the door cautiously. "Master Lupin, Sir?"  
  
Severus smirked to himself. "No. I'm Severus Snape."  
  
"O…Oh!" the elf cried. Severus tried to remember her name and failed. He hadn't paid too much attention his last visit.   
  
"May I come inside? I've come to pay a visit."  
  
The elf hesitated.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Kebby isn't being sure if Master Lupin would like that."  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. The worst problem about house-elves was that they couldn't think for themselves. "Did he give you any orders against it before he left?"  
  
"N…o."  
  
"Well then."  
  
Reluctantly, the elf let him in, but once he was inside, out of the slush storm, Kebby turned extremely hospitable, explaining Master Lupin had gone to a Christmas affair and had not yet returned, offering to take his cloak, to bring a towel, any drink Master Snape might wish, a seat…   
  
"No thanks, Kebby," he cut in firmly. The elf's high-pitched voice was giving him a headache, and she was talkative to boot. "I want to talk with Remus. Can you tell me where he's at?"  
  
"In his suite, Sir."  
  
Severus glanced around. The place was huge. "I don't know where that's at."  
  
"Kebby will show you, Sir! Just follow Kebby!" She skipped off a little ahead of him. He bolted to keep up with her quick pace, listening to her chatter. "Master Lupin was wanting to lock Master Remus in the silver room while he was gone, but Kebby is seeing how sad Master Remus is by that, Kebby knows! So Kebby says to Master Lupin 'No, no, no, you can't possibly make Master Remus stay in there over Christmas!' He said he could, but Kebby was insisted, Sir. So Master Lupin says yes after a while because he saying his head hurt too much!"  
  
Severus could believe her, but was glad Remus had an ally in the form of a faithful (although dim, she hadn't realised she was talking against Richaden Lupin, which she was forbidden to do) house-elf with a very persuasive voice. He was sure he'd've given into Kebby as well if it got her to shut up. But he was also furious.   
  
"He wanted to keep Remus in there the whole time he was gone? He was planning to stay away for a day and a half! Does he often do that?"  
  
From what Severus was able to make out from a string of ear-grating bad grammar, he discovered Lupin did that nearly every time he would be away for ample periods of time. He clenched his fists, a little angry with himself as well as Lupin.   
  
"Can you just point me in the right direction from here? We need to talk alone."  
  
Kebby pointed in the general direction of one wing, helpfully offering directions, and hesitantly handed him the key. After assuring her he'd be long gone before Master Lupin returned (with another grim smirk), Severus followed her words. This wing was neglected, had fallen into disrepair. Gradually he was able to figure the way because there was a layer of dust on the corridors that were unused.   
  
"Three down from the round window. One… two… and three…" he whispered, nearly inaudibly. Then he saw what he needed the key for.  
  
_A lock on the_ **_outside_**? The more he learned of Richaden Lupin's ways, the less he liked him. Mouth set, he unlocked it and slipped in with characteristic noiselessness. He grew even angrier as he glanced inside. There was a lock on the inside as well - made of silver. He made out three small rooms in the suite, the best word to describe being "dingy". Bits of wood and wallpaper peeled and stuck out at intervals, small debris was on the edges of the floor.  
  
He found his quarry in the third room, which consisted of a hard cot, a half-opened trunk with various school supplies and clothing, and at the only window - a small, shaded bay affair - was Remus, sitting in the cubbyhole. He glanced at up Severus silently from his stare out of the window, only his eyes betraying uncertainty.  
  
Severus had been worried about what to say to open the conversation, to break the ice of this meeting, to ease into the humble pie of apology he would have to eat, to test out Remus, for days, but the moment had provided him with exactly what he wanted to say.   
  
"_He_'s got this whole damn manor - size of Sesame Sea - and he puts you in _here_?" he demanded furiously, waving a hand for emphasis, not having to say who "he" was. Neither ever had. "_He_" was Remus's uncle; "_she_" was Severus's mother. No further explanations needed, thank you very kindly.   
  
Remus continued to stare at him for a second, apparently trying to read into him. Deducting that Severus didn't appear to have come with any resentment in his direction, he shrugged ever so slightly. "Merry Christmas to you, too."   
  
"The elf told me some other things I wasn't keen on."  
  
"Kebby likes to chatter," Remus agreed neutrally.   
  
"Blasted bloody imbecile." Severus looked around uneasily, wondering where to take it from here. He waited a moment. Remus didn't ask about his sudden visit; that was one of the reasons Severus had liked him. No unnecessary questions. But it was bothersome now. He sighed. "Remus - Remus, I'm sorry. I've been ignoring you, letting Liqumbaug believe my story, because, well, because…"  
  
"Because you thought 'it wouldn't hurt if the werewolf got a few more lashes to remember'?" Remus's tone was deadpan and strained.  
  
Severus looked sharply at him, apprehensive, but suddenly Remus cast his eyes downward. "I apologise, Sev. I shouldn't've cast that up to you."   
  
"Quit it. I should be apologising." Severus took a deep breath. "I've been very unreasonable about it all. I should have known you had nothing to do with it. I was just… I couldn't even control it. I was too angry. I've been a git, I know, and I came to make it up to you."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"You're just saying that. You always say the polite thing."  
  
"No, I do. I could see exactly where you came from. I tried to look at it through you're eyes, and well. I could see why you were angry. You had nearly died because I had hid something from you, even after you had told me so many of your secrets. You had to be rescued by someone you never liked much. Sirius wouldn't apologise. And worst, Dumbledore had just tacitly said - or so it probably seemed to you, since you were awfully upset - that your life was worth negative twenty Gryffindor points and a few detentions."  
  
Severus stared at him in awe. How did he understand him so well? Did anyone even bother to try and understand him like that?  
  
"Yeah. That's a lot of what it was." Severus's voice shook with self-disgust. "And then Father - I kept playing at it more and more because, well, I was finally getting attention from him! It took nearly losing my life, but he was paying attention to me and concerned and fighting for me, and it just felt so good."   
  
"I didn't know that would mean so much to you." Was Remus being sarcastic? Severus examined him carefully, but Remus only looked intent. He had missed someone listening to him.  
  
"It - it did, I guess. I hadn't known, either. So for the past few months I've been working out a way to talk to you. I'm sorry, I really am."  
  
"Nothing at all."  
  
Severus sighed with relief and then glanced at his friend, his usual earnestness in plans returning. "But I didn't give you my gift yet. Come on, Remus. I was worried he had some super-charmed chains on you, but as not, we can sneak out and I'll show -"  
  
"Er," Remus said ruefully.   
  
" - you a hideout until -"  
  
"Sev." Colour rising in his face, Remus tugged at the end of a thin chain. Severus followed its line to where it came to the collar of Remus's black Hogwarts robes. He only noticed now Remus was still wearing them; he had never seen him wear anything else save thrice, come to think of it, and once of those times he had been a rampaging wolf. Severus made out a circle of the chain around Remus's neck, and couldn't help but note the clever, seamless three-way clasp. It was a handy sort of thing.   
  
"What a -" Severus called Richaden Lupin something that would have caused Mildred Longbottom to wash his mouth out with soap.  
  
"Honestly. You find nothing wrong with torturing people, yet you're ready to commit murder when someone with complete power to do so chains someone who's not even human."  
  
Severus shrugged. "So you're not a real person. But the Longbottoms treat their_ Crup_ better than this." He sighed and pulled out his wand. "Oh well. Easily fixed."  
  
"Sev, no. Kebby used her magic once to get them off and transfigurated them when he got back, and he was able to tell they had been tampered with." Remus was nearly pleading; he obviously knew what Severus could do when riled, and how rarely he listened to reason.   
  
Severus broke into a wide, sinister smile. "This is the thing, you see. Your pathetic excuse for a guardian isn't coming back."   
  
No spelling it out for Remus. His eyes widened and he stared out the window for a moment. After a moment of silence, he turned back to Severus. "Oh."   
  
"Oh indeed. Now come on, the Ministry'll know soon and come to get you. You're sister and her husband have custody of you next, right? No offence, but from what I heard, Athena is a prat. Here's you big chance to cut loose!"  
  
"Why don't they know, but you do?"  
  
"Lupin, am I a Death Eater or am I not?"  
  
Remus shook his head. "You're still in _there_," he said, disappointed.  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. "Come on. You think it's something you can just get out of, easy come, easy go?"  
  
"You never did anything the orthodox way. I was hoping you would." He paused. "I missed that sort of thing, though. I missed you."  
  
"I did, too. How d'you live with those - never mind," Severus amended quickly. How Remus dealt with his brainless group of Gryffindors was a mystery to him, but Remus just raised and eyebrow, and he knew not to continue. "It wasn't _nothing_," he changed tack, with his old habit of swinging a conversation back around by its ears. "I can't believe myself. That I blamed you, that I gave _him_ the go-ahead when he asked…"   
  
Remus shrugged. Something odd had happened to Remus. It took a while to study on it, but Severus abruptly figured it out: Remus had all but reached adulthood. Something about his very composed, resigned, but quietly spirited manner, a great deal different than the insecure child he had been, showed that he had grown up, and he behaved like a man who has found their strength tested and found that it was sufficient, and, Gryffindor-like, was sure he could do it again. Severus, still struggling with his choices every day, envied him that peace. "I'm sure it was partly my fault as well; in some way I deserved it."  
  
Severus snorted. "Right. Come on, you did nothing." When Remus didn't reply, he said earnestly, "Don't think that. You don't believe it, do you? You have terrible self-esteem, Remus."  
  
"I guess I know now that it wasn't but…" Remus swallowed. "When - when _he_ took me in there - the only way I could…could rationalise it, deal with it, I suppose, was to bring myself to believe it was my fault and I was exactly what you were all saying."  
  
Severus shook his head. "That's the chief difference between me and you. You're in the floor being tortured and can only deal with it by believing you deserve it; I'm on the floor being tortured and can only deal with it by believing I _don't_ deserve it."   
  
"Yes, you're definitely still under their rule," Remus sighed. "Sev, they're torturing you, they'll make you kill if you haven't already, and yet -"  
  
"I was worried, I confess," Severus broke in before he could speak further. "I told you, Remus, how I was worried I couldn't kill someone. But this," he chuckled, "was easy. So convenient he was a pain in more than one place, eh? The Dark Lord was pleased to be rid of him."   
  
"You killed someone?" Remus sighed, rubbing his temples.   
  
"Sheesh, Remus, I thought you got what I meant. Yeah, I killed someone: your uncle!"  
  
Remus went limp a moment, staring at him in horror. "You - you -"  
  
"Yeah. D'you think I could come here without anything to offer you for my behaviour? I wanted to finish the assignment before I apologised… I dunno. A sort of peace offering."   
  
Slowly, shakily, Remus stood. "You - You killed my uncle."  
  
"Whatever happened to your ability to understand simple concepts? Yes."  
  
There was another second of silence as Remus digested this. "You _killed_ him."   
  
Severus didn't think he'd ever understand Remus, whatever the vice versa was. "I didn't think you'd be upset. You have no reason to mourn him. He treated you terribly." Remus didn't seem moved. "He never did a thing to help you that he wasn't forced to do. He _bullwhipped_ you!"  
  
"It was _not _a bullwhip and he only did that once, and that was thanks to you." Remus's voice was deadly calm and quiet, but his hazel eyes were blazing. "He was my kinsman. You kill him, and what? You expect me to thank you? Be happy about it? I can't believe you, Sev. Do you even understand that you've taken a life?"   
  
"He was worse than any dog and deserved to be treated by one. 'Kinsman', indeed - I'd be ashamed to admit relationship to him. Get a grip, Remus!"  
  
"Get out."  
  
"What?" Something seemed to have gone very askew in this conversation.  
  
"Get out."  
  
"Now wait a second, I'm trying -"  
  
Remus had snapped. With what seemed to be one sweeping movement he had torn the curtain rod off of the window and held it in front of him like a weapon - and swung it.  
  
Severus dodged, just barely. He whipped out his wand, swearing. "What are you attacking me for?"  
  
"_Get out of here_." Remus very nearly knocked the wand from his hand.  
  
"I did a hell of a lot of risks for you! D'you know how many strings I had to pull to get the mission to dispose of him? Remus? Are you listening?"  
  
_Whoosh_ went the rod through the air.   
  
"Are you going to be sensible?"  
  
_Whap!_ The rod was flashed by again.   
  
"_Frenchdia_!"  
  
Remus maneuvered the object so the spell hit the rod - and bounced back off. It had been spelled, Severus realised, been spelled for imprisonment by Lupin so his nephew could not escape that way, either. And here was Remus defending him, _defending_ the one who had tortured him constantly and attacking the one who had been his _friend. _  
  
That thought was the end. Severus's temper flew once again. "_Mobiliarbus_! _Detachadium_!"  
  
Remus wasn't quick enough and was thrown against the wall.  
  
"_Expelliarmus_!"   
  
The curtain rod was flung from Remus's hand, but the usually levelheaded boy was beyond reason. He charged forward at Severus, who had stepped forward for another curse. Severus dodged backwards - and Remus suddenly choked. The chain had pulled him back, jerking him to the floor.   
  
"See, Remus? Again. That was what Richaden Lupin had to offer you. You know, I didn't see you so upset by his untimely death when I first told you it. You stared out the window and said 'oh', if I recall right." He stared down at Remus, on the floor, trying to loosen the chain cutting into his neck. "Maybe he's just right, _werewolf_."   
  
Remus mumbled something through clenched teeth.  
  
Severus kicked him. "What was that?"  
  
Remus up righted, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You'd rather not know."   
  
"I know Unforgivables." He had learned them, all right. Senior Death Eaters had used Crutiacus after Crutiacus on him until he had done them properly. It was unlikely he would ever forget them.   
  
"It does figure." Remus rose, unflinching at his wand. "I said 'maybe you need to learn temper control'."  
  
"I hate you." Severus pushed him down again.   
  
"Right now it's mutual." It was true. Hatred was written all over both young faces.   
  
Severus raised his wand again. "_Hi _-"  
  
_CRACK!  
_  
Severus instantly froze, eyes closed, and toppled to the floor.   
  
Remus, still crouching in front of the bay window, slowly got to his feet for the final time. Scanning the doorway, he found what he had suspected - Kebby, clear but rippling and thus visible light of elf-magic shining around her. She must have used it not only to knock out Snape but to silence herself, because her eyes were red, pillowcase damp, and she was still breathing heavily in quiet sobs. She knelt to Sev.   
  
Sev. Snape. Who was this to him? Remus wondered numbly. He hated Snape for killing in cold blood. But he knew why Sev was there with the Death Eaters, why he felt forced to do just that, and while he disliked it, could understand.   
  
"Is he all right?" he asked quietly.   
  
Kebby looked up, eyes shiny with tears. "Only is knocked out, Sir," she said, as softly as her squeaky voice would allow. "Kebby is sorry if she was bad, but he was about to hurt you, Sir."  
  
"No, Kebby. Thanks very much." Leaning against the wall, he pushed his hair from his eyes. "I suppose you heard about Uncle Richaden."   
  
Kebby nodded, tears brimming over. "Master Lupin is being dead."  
  
"I'm sorry, Kebby. It'll be all right." House-elves held an earnest devotion to those they served, and no matter how cold and harsh Uncle Richaden was, Kebby would take his death hard.   
  
"You is very kind, Master Remus." Kebby's head was bowed over Snape, trying to swallow the disappointment of her loss. Most house-elves hated idleness in the best of times. Remus tried to think of a way to distract her.  
  
"Kebby, could you take this off for me?" he asked, fingering the chain.   
  
Kebby did so, relived to have something to do. Remus breathed in relief as it was removed.  
  
"Master Remus?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What should we do with him?"   
  
Remus looked down at Sev, throat caught.   
  
"Should we be taking him to the Ministry of Magic?"  
  
"No," Remus decided at long last. "Send him back home, Kebby." He smiled grimly. "I can't wait for him to find out that he's nothing more than a lackey errand-boy over with Voldemort. I'll laugh."**  
  
  
  
**

_"Well you wouldn't know a diamond if you held it in your hand  
The things you think are precious I can't understand."  
- "Reeling in the Years", Steely Dan  
  
  
  
_

**TBC**


	2. Liqumbaug's Plan

**Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. I'm playing in her toybox because I get writer's block on my own work. I will return all characters in fairly decent condition. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment. _**  


  
**Chapter One - Liqumbaug's Plan  
  
**_Day: 2 Month: 11 Year: 1976_  
  
Remus wondered if this was some twisted game of hide and seek. It was the sort of thing a bored Marauder would think up and the others join in on.   
  
His three dorm mates (who also happened to be his best - and the only of his age - friends) had evaporated at some point that morning, between Charms and Divination, and had skived Trelawney's class (actually, a very clever thing to do). It was now their free Friday afternoon, and Remus was half-apprehensive, half-annoyed, and half-alarmed. (Okay, so three halves didn't make a whole unless you took a special branch of Arthimancy, but that was a headache for another day.) James, Sirius, and Peter might have just wanted some time alone - they might not even all be together - but usually if they disappeared for six hours, they at least warned him in advance. Was something wrong?   
  
He smiled wryly to himself. As if he was in any position to talk of lying about mysterious whereabouts and occurrences thereof.   
  
Still, he would've given up the search and finished some homework it he hadn't been worried. Strange things and mysterious disappearances were regular occurrences lately.   
  
Racking his mind a bit more, he thought of where else to check. He'd gone through all their hidden rooms that existed that particular day, combed Gryffindor Tower, the Great Hall, the Owlery, the library (dubiously), every corridor, and had asked Nearly Headless Nick if he'd seen them.   
  
Remus glanced out the window and sighed. It was pouring down rain, but they were probably outside. He grinned fondly as he doubled back for his cloak.   
  
"Lupin. Excellent. I was hoping to talk with you."  
  
Remus halted, recognising the voice of his Defence Against the Dark Arts master, Professor Liqumbaug. His even tone could have meant any number of things. Remus went to the open door of the office. "Good afternoon, Sir."  
  
"Don't just stand there, lad, come in. Do you have anywhere to be just now?"  
  
Liqumbaug was a tall, well-built man whose presence dominated any room he was in. Students never had much cause to fear him; he had never handed out a punishment other than the occasional deducted point. No one ever misbehaved for him to do anything else. His question had been rather pointless - if he wanted to talk with you, you had nothing better to do.  
  
"No, Sir." Remus took a seat at Liqumbaug's round worktable.   
  
Liqumbaug offered him a dry but proud half-smile. "You're making a mockery out of me, young Lupin." He nimbly thumbed through a stack of parchment on the table, looking for something. "I'm forced to keep giving points to Gryffindor."  
  
The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was also Head of Slytherin. Yet he managed to be pretty fair to all Houses, although everyone knew where his loyalties lay. He wore a green-and-silver wristband in case anyone forgot.  
  
"I'm sorry. Would it help if I said I'm extremely disappointed in myself?"  
  
Liqumbaug chuckled. "You shouldn't be." He found the sheet he was looking for; it was an essay he had recently assigned: "Legal and Moral Issues on the Unforgivables - Discuss". The one he held was Remus's own. "Never read anything like it. Your writing was concise and strong. A ten-year-old could read and understand about all of it, but any scholar or intellectual would love it. Points clearly made and thorough research. I'm really rather jealous you wrote it."  
  
Remus bit his lip, feeling colour rise into his face, but was very pleased. Liqumbaug was stingy with praise, and when he felt you earned it, you knew you had done quite a job. "Thank you, Sir."  
  
"Seven-hundred-and-ten-percent." _He didn't just say seven hundred. _"Ten points to Gryffindor. Do you plan to write more of these? You could probably market them."  
  
Remus glanced at him, surprised. "I could?"  
  
"Yes. Something to think about."  
  
It was indeed. The very thought of some form of independence from his uncle Richaden made something in his chest hurt. "I will, Sir."   
  
"There's something else I wanted to suggest. I'm talking to you and Severus Snape separately, so you're sparred having to react diplomatically." He grinned. "So feel free to scream in horror and make all the faces you wish. But try to think with your head here. Have you thought of a partner for the Duels?"  
  
The Duels were a teamed competition involving swordsmanship, staff, and magic. Several contests would decide which Hogwarts representative team would go to the Gathering, where there would be another series of matches with teams from the world over.  
  
"Peter. Pettigrew."  
  
Liqumbaug sighed. "As I thought. Er - you do know that - and no offence to your friend - this isn't his strongest area?"  
  
"Yes. But Pete's logical, chess-like. That's needed as well."  
  
"Lupin, think a moment. I won't deny that you two would do fine - but think of when you get to Snape. He's with Cletus Avery. Now, you may beat them. But you and Pettigrew would then be _nowhere_ at the Gathering. Those are the best teams from all over the world.  
  
"Or Snape and Avery might win. They'll go on. Even with how good Severus is - he's quite as good as you, and I'm glad to know you don't deny it - he can't do much with Avery." Liqumbaug paused. "Follow me?"  
  
Remus had looked and listened intently the whole time, eyes a little wide. "You want me and - and Snape - to be on the same team?"  
  
"Snape and me."  
  
"Snape and me," Remus repeated obediently, mulling this over. _Snape_? Snape bullied Peter, clashed with Sirius, and played trick after dirty trick on James. He couldn't imagine working civilly with Snape.  
  
But then, unless defending his friends, Remus had never had any personal battles with him. He tried to think objectively, an undistorted view, and got an unbiased image of Sev Snape, an interoved, bookish Slytherin who knew more curses than Liqumbaus himself… although he rarely used them. He spent a lot of the time on top of Defence and was a sheer genius at Potions (while Remus tried not to be jealous; the subject didn't come _hard_, it just never came to him at all) and a good Keeper. Although undeniably intelligent and decently good-looking, Snape was definitely a loner. Part of it might've been his hair, which was always shiny with grease; most was probably his temper and attitude. He had little patience, was moody, unreadable, and never seemed to be interested in much except his beloved books.  
  
He was also James's worst (possibly only; James was extremely likeable) enemy, and he, Remus, had promised Peter already. Remus opened his mouth to say so, but Liqumbaus spoke first.   
  
"Don't make up your mind just yet. Think it over. Think of Hogwarts. Think how exciting being competitive in the Gathering would be. Think of how grateful I would be to shut Professor Ellicha up."  
  
"Professor, there's also the small fact that we've not exchanged a friendly word in five years."  
  
"That can be fixed. Another think to think of - I keep trying to move the date, but the school competition is only three days after the full moon; only time we can work it in. Winning the tournament is tough at the best of times, lad, but you can barely manage classes at that time. And Snape? He'd take you down like a feather, and Pettigrew can't take his whole share."  
  
Remus hadn't considered this yet, but shrugged. "I'll just have to start practicing directly after my transformations. There're still a few months."  
  
"Remus." Remus startled; Liqumbaug never called him by given name. "I don't deny you'll do anything when you have a mind to - I learned that quickly - but think reasonably. When we have _practice_ three days after the full moon, I'm afraid you'll collapse on me. A simple drill leaves you sweating; after a full lesson someone usually forces you to the hospital wing." He hesitated, and then continued. "If this is from your first year, I'm sorry. Don't feel as if you must prove yourself to me. You already have."  
  
Directly after Remus's first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Liqumbaug kept him after dismissal, calling him to stand before his desk. He then proceeded to give a lecture on the conditions of Remus's lycanthropy, firmly stating that he was to miss no homework assignment, must get his notes from a classmate, could not be late without a note from Madam Pomfrey, he was not going to harm or threaten a student or teacher on threat of expulsion and execution, and his monthly ordeal would be no excuse for inattentiveness or weariness during class. Understood?   
  
Remus had been silently furious Liqumbaug believed disobeying any of those orders had crossed his mind in the first place. What hurt more was that these were not simply reminders or cautions; Liqumbaug's usual calmly stern voice was harsh and despising. He refrained from speaking these thoughts; instead he quietly replied that he understood, choking back an irritating impulse to cry.  
  
Months passed; Remus applying himself diligently, controlling havoc-wrecking instincts, determined to prove he was studier of the text first and subject of the text second. After those first few moons, Liqumbaug's attitude changed; Remus no longer felt he was being constantly tested and watched, and Liqumbaug's tone and manner to him became the same as to any other Gryffindor pupil. Remus even developed a talent and liking for Defence; it's practical applications seemed so much more potent than brewing a Sneeze-Inducing Mixture.  
  
"What d'you think Snape would say?"  
  
Liqumbaug gave him a look that clearly stated that answer should be obvious. "We're Slytherins. If he wants to win, he'll see you're better than Avery. Who does he want as a partner? The best."  
  
"Honestly, Sir, with all these compliments I feel like bread being buttered. Just what makes you think we could be compatible enough?"  
  
"You're rather shrewd, considering what House you're in, aren't you, Lupin? As for your question, I don't _think_ you'll be 'compatible' enough. I _know_ you are. You know how?"  
  
"Because you always know and you're always right, Sir?"  
  
Liqumbaug raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling. "You're honest and respectful, young Gryffindor, but pert. No. You put weights in your sword, didn't you?"  
  
Remus suspected he was in trouble. "Yes, Sir. For training."  
  
"Clever move. Regular swords will seem like quills to you. Now, when I picked up your sword and felt that extra heft and worked out what you had done, I followed a hunch. I was right."  
  
Remus waited, wondering where this was going.  
  
Liqumbaug smiled triumphantly. "Snape had done the exact same thing."  
  
*  
  
Severus was annoyed.  
  
No, worse than annoyed. He was irritated, exasperated. No one worked for anything. Not even Slytherins.  
  
He hated having to work with anyone anyhow. Whose bright idea had _that_ been? Some sparkling blue-eyed idealist who spoke in airy tones of "promoting _co-operation_ and_ teamwork _among tomorrow's future leaders!" The thought of trusting another to do their share in your goals went wholly against what he had learned the past few years as a Slytherin with a dangerous leader on the rise.  
  
You trusted_ no one_. No one. Except yourself, and even then, be well aware of your limits. Everyone had some and only Gryffindor fools ignored them.  
  
It had been trickier as of late to keep his nose clean. The Dark Lord was recruiting the fifth years; some of Severus's roommates even bore of the Dark Mark on their forearm.   
  
Those who kept their head down, those whom fellow Slytherins were uncertain would join, were usually ignored - completely. Given an icy silence, a cold shoulder. But the odd, highly intelligent Severus could not be overlooked. He was far too clever, a little too radical, and would be too dangerous if he joined enemy lines wholeheartedly.  
  
Severus had no intention of blindly following Dumbledore, but he didn't want to become a Death Eater. He served two masters: himself, and his mother. His mother, an Auror abroad, wouldn't want him to be on the Dark Lord's side.  
  
He had not seen his mother since the age of seven. But how he would have done anything for her! His deepest, wildest fantasy was to meet her, to feel her arms around him, to hear she was proud of him. So no Dark Side for him.  
  
But it required caution. The others would get nastily persuasive if they didn't believe Sev Snape, duelist and brewer extraordinaire, was with them. That meant leering at Mudbloods, showing guarded support for their lord, leading them to believe he'd be initiated soon, and being as "true" a Slytherin as possible.  
  
That did not mean he was one of them. It was pretty much an accepted fact that he was the oddball, the loner, the bookworm, at times among them but rarely one of them. Uncannily quiet, always saying things his peers couldn't follow, temperamental, and with a knack for holding fierce grudges, Severus was just regarded as… weird.   
  
It was fine by him; Severus had no patience with his Slytherin age group. They had no _intellect_; even those with magical talent or book knowledge had no conception of logic or thinking outside the square.   
  
And no inclination to change it! It was this which caused Severus's latest sulky fit - Cletus Avery's laziness. He had been shunted around and stuck with Cletus as a partner for the Duels, a competition with high bragging rights at stake. Everyone else had a given friend to team with.  
  
Severus had just been trying to persuade Cletus off of a chair in front of the common room fire, where he was gazing longingly with fellow perverts Christoph Wilkes and Evan Rosier over girls posing in _Teen Witch Weekly_. The three were about as close to friends as Severus possessed, but he was often at odds with them.   
  
"Why do I have to practice? No one can beat you, Sev. I'll just be… backup… yeah, backup…" Cletus's eye caught an undergarment advertisement.   
  
Severus sighed pointedly.  
  
"The Duels aren't_ that _much to worry of, Sev," Evan assured him. He and Christoph were sixth-years and had gone through it the year before. They were annoyingly superior about it, too. "That's, what, five whole months away, anyway."   
  
"Right. Can't you catch up one your twenty issues of drool _after_ the Duels?" Severus demanded.   
  
"Eh? English, Snape. You're talking to mortals here," Christoph said.  
  
Severus, pushed to his limit, yelled at them and stormed off. Hopeless. And Cletus - Cletus could work some spells and was swift when fired up, but his actual defence was as mediocre as Professor Liqumbaug would let it be. His sword and staff… flashy, but sloppy. He rarely practiced; "homework" was nonexistent to him; Cletus could probably talk his way out of Azkaban. Would probably need to one day, come to think of it.  
  
Might he win, even with Cletus? Severus wondered, ready to cool his temper in the library. He ignored a portrait yelling to him that if the wind changed, his face would stay that way. He was good, and nearly able to claim himself the best in his class. He'd drilled chronically since they started the staff last year. It was the one thing he did as much as reading.  
  
Staff, sword, and dueling on a competitive level could only be achieved by a very diligent or very talented few in the two years they would have completed by the contest. For the majority of the class, even Liqumbaug was only aiming for them learning simple defence with staff and sword before they laid them aside at the end of this year. Most students would be knocked out by the first round.  
  
Out of the serious group, many of them were mediocre compared to Severus. This list included most Slytherins. But then there were a few teams he was worried about…   
  
Tessa Abbott and Lily Evans. Both had photographic memories. Tess, a Hufflepuff, was stronger than most boys and vicious with her weapons. Severus knew he was more agile, but she was no pushover. Lily, a Gryffindor, was terrific with the wand. She always gave Severus a challenge he would have appreciated, had not he been so worried she might win. His House mates would not go for a Mudblood beating their star student, despite the fact she had whipped them often and soundly. Tess and Lily were the only threatening female team, but dedicated. And not prone to showing everything they had.   
  
Robin Heyworth and Katya Peterson. It was unusual for two Ravenclaws to be as good with combat as with magic, but they were, and Heyworth was muscular. Katya was one of the few swifter than Severus, according to rumour… not that he paid much attention to rumour.   
  
Severus clenched his teeth as he came to the next two… Potter and Black. Sirius Black was bad enough - a loudmouthed, emotional, vivid boy with firm opinions and a temper worse than Severus's own. They often fought over something or another; if Black was locked up in a room with only a rock for company, he'd get to wrestling with it. He was always sneering at Severus for _something._   
  
It was often in defence of his best friend, James Potter. The two were inseparable; the school had taken to addressing both of them "Blotter", apart or together - and they were most often together. Black was fiercely loyal to all his friends, but his devotion to Potter caused Severus to roll his eyes.  
  
Potter was one of the most popular kids in school. Severus couldn't reason it. All he could see was a loud, reckless, messy-haired Gryffindor who made a great deal of jokes at others' expense and flaunted his perfect life around.   
  
He had once shouted to Severus: "Hey, Severus, the sun's out!" in his never-ending quest to solve the mystery of his love of books. Severus had never forgotten it, or how even the Slytherins laughed.  
  
The very worst part - Black and Potter were more than good. They were absolute naturals in all areas of dueling. Black, although his common sense probably could have fit in a Sneakoscope with room for his puffeskein as well, was strong and his impulses usually led him right. Potter did have some sense, and was quick, smooth, and unhesitant.   
  
At least they had two very big weak points: over-confidence and laziness. They rarely trained and often fell behind Severus.  
  
Then, lastly, were Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. Pettigrew didn't worry Severus to the point of losing sleep; he was terrible with the actual fighting, but was a master chess player, and chess players generally made for good strategists.   
  
The real problem in this duo, however, was Lupin. One on one in a semi-fair match, Severus was sure he could win any match with any weapon with anyone, barring the special circumstances sure to arise on the actual day, except possibly Tess Abbott with sword or staff.  
  
With Lupin Severus wasn't nearly so sure. In class Liqumbaug had squared them off only once, in fourth year right when they began staff work. Severus had never used it before (unlike showoff Potter, who had held one since he was five and made sure everyone knew it) and was concentrating on learning and not making a fool of himself. Lupin seemed unused to the weapon as well and handled it carefully, obviously because had he used the same mindless pace as his friends, he'd most likely embarrassed himself spectacularly in front of Slytherin rivals. Still, even then Severus sensed his quiet intentness, his quick grasp on the art.  
  
Now - and Severus was loathe to admit it - Lupin was the only one on his level, the only one who prevented Severus from being the no-questions-asked best of the year. His handling was controlled and fluid; movements agile; his defence in a magical duel could probably stand up to Severus's blistering offence; he took full advantage of the allowance to use any items in the designated combat lines, once levitating an ink bottle and spilling it to trip up his partner.   
  
Severus had studied the problem a while, analysing both their styles, honing in on Lupin's weaknesses. The chief one was the Gryffindor's inability to break the code of chivalry; Severus suspected he'd rather forfeit than play foul. That was what he, Severus, had to capatilise on. Evan called it "shoving into a corner" - if he could put Lupin in the position where he could only save himself by disregarding the code, he'd most likely not do it. Preferably, Severus could do it without violating it himself; he didn't mind breaking rules, but moderators were extra watchful of Slytherins. He had no intention of being disqualified.   
  
Severus stepped into the library, breathing in the scent of the roomy vault of treasure, musty or crisp pages, waiting patiently for him like no person could. It was little marred by voices, for once; few had the sense of responsibility to finish weekend homework so immediately after gaining freedom.   
  
"Good morning, Mr. Snape," Madam Pince, the hawk-eyed librarian, greeted him in a barely audible whisper. Severus wondered if she didn't have a method of Apparation of some sort within her domain; she guarded her sacred library zealously. But he was one of the few on good terms with her, mainly because he didn't find her protectiveness of books laughable.   
  
"Madam Pince," Severus nodded.  
  
"Is there anything I can get for you?"  
  
"No." He wandered off, finding the quietest, most seclusive section of the place. Today it just so happened to be the specialised research area. He had read most of them; colourful, almost useless odds and bits happened to be his idea of great fun.   
  
"Morning. Noon. Evening. Midnight. You're too predictable, Snape."  
  
Severus, interrupted from the process of choosing his latest read, turned sharply to see Professor Liqumbaug. How the imposing Head of Slytherin managed to stay hidden was anybody's guess. Severus wished he knew; knowledge was power and camouflage was a highly useful tool.   
  
Right now Liqumbaug seemed to expect him to answer. Severus shrugged. "Routine can be comforting."   
  
Liqumbaug chuckled as he relaxed against one of the bookshelves. "You've a reply for everything, don't you?"  
  
"Except that," Severus agreed.  
  
Liqumbaug regarded him appraisingly. "Don't you worry you might cut yourself on that sharp wit?" His voice was dryly stern, per usual, but sounded vaguely amused and even a little proud.  
  
"Why borrow trouble? And isn't it about the same as not cutting yourself with your own sword?"  
  
"Honestly, lad. If you talk like that to Minerva McGonagall, I've discovered why we're second for the House Cup."   
  
"I don't mean to sound smart. I tell the truth. If everyone thinks it's disrespectful it's their problem."  
  
"Really. Look what a fix you have me in now, young Snape. You've completely steered me off the course I was trying to get the conversation to."  
  
"Well, what direction were you steering it to?" Severus asked brazenly.  
  


_"Slow down, you crazy child  
You're so ambitious for a juvenile  
But if you're so smart, tell me, why are you so afraid?"  
-- "Vienna", Billy Joel  
_

  
  
**TBC (TBC is quickened by reviews, by the way. Criticism, praise, death threats, marriage proposals...)  
  
**


	3. Mind The Sharp Points

**Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. I'm playing in her toybox because I get writer's block on my own work. I will return all characters in fairly decent condition. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.   
  
Special thanks to my roxing reviewers: Sorensen, Arwen Undomiel, Ginny Potter, Lavander Ice, Triskelion, Ayla Pascal, Henoimre, and Moonrose. This chapter's dedicated to you! Thanks so much for the catching of errors and encouragement, and particularly Sorensen for betaing (DEMANDING to beta, no less...).   
  
Also a huge thank you for Sorensen for putting up with... with that place, y'know, the opposite of heaven, while attempting to beta. You rock, Sore, and your new screen name is really cool into the bargain. :-)  
_  
**

Chapter Two - Mind The Sharp Points  
  
Remus's cloak was useless. His mother had promised a new one right before she died. He had been far too grief-stricken to worry about it then, of course, but he noticed it now. Trying to take good care of it had proved difficult for a Marauder, and Uncle Richaden resented every Knut spent on him. Remus had resolved to eventually pay his uncle back in full, but until then he just had to shiver and hope he didn't contract pneumonia.  
  
After a chilly half hour, Remus came across someone in the storm - Hagrid, the gianteous, good-natured gamekeeper. Their first experience with him beyond his taking them to the school in their first year as tradition dictated was during their first winter. Sirius got the idea to let a bunch of fire salamanders loose on the frozen lake before the Slytherins skated on it. The problem was that Hagrid got the blame. James immediately decided they should apologise to Hagrid. He and the quartet of mischief had been good friends ever since, and he was especially fond of James. But then, who wasn't?  
  
"Remus! What're yeh doin' ou' here wi' it rainin' like this?" Hagrid demanded as he spotted him.  
  
Remus walked over to the edge of the moat, not trusting himself to be heard if he shouted through the wind. Hagrid, looking rather disapproving and reminding the student of McGonagall in one of her moods, grabbed one of the huge far bolts on his shoulder and draped it around Remus.   
  
With relief, Remus felt his teeth cease to chatter. "T-Thanks." He saw what Hagrid was doing - a patch of ditheraries, which would only grow near water, were being flooded as the lake rose. Hagrid was using three tools, and as he only had two hands, they were all getting pretty muddy. "Would you like me to help?"  
  
Hagrid half-grunted, half-snorted as he fitted a crystal half-sphere over a prickly ditherary, pressing the edge firmly into the earth. "Yeh sure can. Git inside so you don' catch anythin'."  
  
"Was that the same thing you told James and Sirius and Peter?" Remus asked, handing him the stubby wood knife.  
  
Hagrid looked at him quizzically.   
  
"I've been looking for them," he elaborated.  
  
"Well now," Hagrid grinned, using the end of the knife to push away the mud and free another ditherary, "they wanted me ter keep mum. But seein' as it's yeh and they've git yer bir'hday pr'sent already, they're in the broomshed."  
  
"It figures. Thanks, Hagrid." Remus took off the heavy would-be shawl, but Hagrid stopped him.  
  
"Keep it an' don' let me catch yeh out here again when it's like this wi'out it."  
  
"All right. Thank you." Remus gratefully wrapped it on again. "You won't _catch_ me, I swear."  
  
Hagrid, smiling, shook his head in surrender while Remus waded over to the shed. He loved Quidditch as much as the next teenage wizard, but this was a bit much. Madam Pomfrey was going to be furious in a few hours when he showed up soaked and muddy. He was going to regret it, too. The Asher house was going to be chilly tonight.  
  
Straining his ears to make out some of the funny noises within, Remus knocked, trying not to show annoyance. After being so keyed up over their safety, he found them _here_…  
  
"Someone's here!" Peter Pettigrew hissed in alarm.  
  
Sirius Black swore. "James, c'mon, quick!"   
  
There was a sort of tapping stomp on the floor.   
  
"You - you can't?" Sirius's voice sounded a little pale. "We're so dead…"  
  
Remus grinned wickedly to himself and put on his best imitation of Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice. The rumble of rain and thunder gave him a lot of leeway. "Come on, boys, there's nothing you've done that can surprise me anymore. Open up, please."  
  
"Flitwick," Peter said hollowly. Immediately Peter's shuffling footsteps and the scraping of moving racks sounded on the floor.   
  
Sirius swore again. "James, come on, mate!_ Concentrate_!"  
  
"_Aloho _-" Remus began lazily, not even taking his wand out.   
  
Peter flung open the door. Remus recognised the look on his face as the one he used when he was about to fabricate his most outrageous cover-ups. "Professor, we - " He halted, staring at Remus for a moment like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Then he burst out furiously: "It's _you_!"   
  
Still outside the broomshed, Remus could just make out Sirius half-crouching in a corner. "Who? _Remus_?"   
  
"You finally got my name straight. Congratulations. Can I come in? It's freezing out here…"  
  
Hesitantly glancing around, Peter moved aside and Remus shut the door thankfully as Sirius fumed: "You pesky low-down dirty sneaky annoying little -"  
  
Remus was looking at the students' broomsticks, wondering what his friends had done to them. That's when he noticed James wasn't there. "Where's James?"   
  
"Erm…"  
  
"Well…"  
  
"Ahem. Mr. Lupin, may I present to you - the antlered Marauder?" Peter pronounced, nervously but with a note of excitement.   
  
Three things happened simultaneously: Remus caught his breath, disbelieving, remembering when they had brewed the Juris Potion, and it had revealed James's Animagus form as a stag. He spotted something askew in rack of Tinderblast brooms - a half-hidden animal whose antlers blended with the wood. And then the animal stepped from the rack, head now held high, a wonderful gleam of undisguised joy in his eye.  
  
The stag walked slowly, lifting it's thin legs regally, over to Remus, who stood before it in shock, almost feeling as if he should bow to it. James Potter eyed him calmly, waiting for him to catch his bearings and react.  
  
"You should see your face right now," Sirius grinned. His voice sounded a little far-off.   
  
Remus remembered to breathe. It had happened. One of his friends had actually accomplished the transformation. What was he supposed to say now? He felt so awkward, seeing James like this. But what was it compared to what they would feel when - and it was definitely in the neighbourhood of "when" now, not "if" - they saw him in his lupine form? They would hesitate, too, and it would hurt to see it, if indeed he even registered it.   
  
"Hullo, James," he managed at last. He sounded shaky.   
  
"He speaks!" Peter quipped.   
  
Carefully, as if still unused to moving about this way, James gently placed his head under Remus's hand. Remus patted it softly. "That's - that's really good - it - it worked."  
  
Even as a stag, it was easy to make out James's trademark grin.  
  
" 'Our antlered Marauder'," Sirius said thoughtfully. "I like it, Peter. James with prongs."  
  
When his friends had discovered he was a werewolf, and later confronted him with what they had found on the transformation, Sirius had promised him solemnly, despite Remus's protests, that he _would_ one day help Remus. There was no cure? Yes there was. And if not, he'd find another way. He'd numb the pain; he'd find a potion to put him asleep throughout it; he'd figure a way to stay with him throughout it.   
  
At the end of their second year, Sirius had hit upon the idea: they could transfigurate themselves into animals.   
  
"It's called Animagi, Sirius," James correctly dryly. "And it's not plain transfiguration."  
  
"Right. Anyway…"   
  
Remus hadn't liked the plan. It was dangerous, it was illegal, it would be painful until his friends mastered the transformation, it was near impossible, and did he mention it was dangerous? But the offer was so tempting. To have company; that there were even people who would do that for him!  
  
With reservations, and after lots of persuading from the other three, who could talk someone into just about anything, he had given in.   
  
Now, he stared at the stag again and again in wonder. It wasn't just one of Sirius's wild ideas anymore. It was actually happening.   
  
Peter had noticed Remus's silence. "James still is the only one who's close. Sirius is still trying to put all the parts together, and well…" He looked vaguely depressed. "Me, you know. I'm still struggling." Peter was very clever, but had a problem with practical application. While Remus liked to see everything having a tangible end, Peter was more scholarly. His one really good subject was Arthimancy (and soon he'd probably be one of the ones who could make three halves a whole). He understood the theory of that Animagus transformation better than possibly anyone else, but actually doing it was giving him a ton of trouble.  
  
Remus smiled at him. "You will get it, Pete. You always do in the end."  
  
"Thanks." Peter managed a listless smile in return.  
  
" '_Will'_? Sheesh, the full moon's tonight," Sirius said impatiently.   
  
Remus turned to Sirius. "Sirius Black, you will not, and I mean _not_, rush this. It's not so important that you should mess it up."  
  
Sirius held up his hands. "I know that tone of voice. We won't rush…" He sighed. Sirius hated to surrender. "But think. This may be your very last full moon alone."  
  
"_May_ be…" Remus glanced at his friends a second time. They were looking back. Suddenly he felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes. He could face insults and pain and hatred and fear and revulsion, but something about this overwhelming kindness made something in him break. "Thanks… so very, very much," he whispered. He gripped the rack next to him so tightly his knuckles looked like peppermints, red and white, blinking furiously and staring at the floor to try and hide it.   
  
He felt James's nose rubbing his hand, and Sirius placing a hand on his shoulder. James looked up at him, saying very clearly with no words at all that it was all right. Confident his eyes were tearless, he looked into Sirius's pale blue eyes. Sirius was unsmiling but comforting.   
  
Then Peter was in front of him. "You're welcome, Remus."  
  
"Yeah. Anything for you, Rem," Sirius agreed.   
  
"What did I do for this?" Remus asked aloud, then silently chastised himself._ What sort of thankfulness is that? _  
  
"Nothing," Sirius smiled. "That's the point."   
  
_Oh, **great**._ He was on the verge of crying _again_, just when he had recovered. He had to salvage this situation, and quick. "James? If you change back, we can go to dinner."  
  
No one moved.  
  
"Erm." Peter squirmed.  
  
Remus's eyes narrowed abruptly. " 'Erm'? What?"   
  
"Er, well, there's a slight problem there," Sirius said.   
  
"Oh, no," Remus said, getting very fearful all of the sudden.   
  
"James hasn't been able to change back," Peter confessed, wringing his hands.   
  
"Revert to previous comment."  
  
"And you are _forbidden _to tell us that you told us so!" Sirius warned.   
  
*  
_Day: 5 Month: 11 Year: 1976  
_  
"I told you so."  
  
Severus sighed. "Yes you did. I doubted your unquestionable word, and thou art right and I art wrong. Is your life complete, Cletus?"  
  
Cletus stared before turning to the front again. "Yeah. Whatever that means. Who filled your knickers with ditherary thorns?"  
  
"He's like that all the time," hissed Jeremy Kinser snidely. Kinser had a running grudge with Severus, stemming from a long ago incident concerning a puffeskein, one of Severus's favourite curses, a chess set with a few missing pieces, and the foolishness of first-years to not take Filch's more outrageous threats seriously.   
  
But Kinser was wrong; Severus was not just "like that". He had a perfectly fine reason for being snappish - two reasons, as a matter of fact. Three, if you counted Cletus's "I-told-you-so".  
  
Evan and Christoph had just followed Liqumbaug into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and between what Cletus had said and Severus's own logic, he knew exactly why they were here.   
  
Liqumbaug, with the class's staffs on a slinged bag on his back, didn't convince Severus otherwise. "Ah, Monday morning yet again. Glad to see you're all awake."   
  
Sheepishly, some students straightened in their seats.   
  
"Thought so. With me are Misters Rosier and Wilkes, one of whom, I might add, is a sixth-year prefect." Several girls glanced at a certain badgeless, black-haired Gryffindor. "A prefect who, you know, actually takes points off for misbehaviour." His gaze, to Severus's satisfaction, fell on the bespectacled, dark-haired Gryffindor _with _a badge.   
  
"Really? Thank goodness!" Potter nodded, leaning forward, talking fast and earnestly. "It's sickening, isn't it, Professor, those big bad prefects who turn a blind eyes to pranks and antics, and are friends with some rogue group of low-life marauders, and who _even_ sometimes partake in that shocking misconduct themselves." He shook his head, sighing, the picture of sincerity.   
  
Liqumbaug didn't join in the giggles. "I refuse to even dignify that with a response, Potter."  
  
"Too late," Black whispered loudly.   
  
"Don't try me so early in the morning, lads," Liqumbaug warned lightly. Potter and Black fell silent. "Rosier came to me with a proposition that some of the older students should observe some lessons, to offer help and to get an idea of your aptitude, since these days you can never be too certain those in authority will never need to know that information."   
  
Scratch that, Severus thought grimly. Evan and Christoph, already Death Eaters and handily stationed at Hogwarts, were doing nothing more than scouting out talent for the Dark Lord and keeping an eye out on their greatest rivals, Gryffindor. Apparently the Dark Side didn't place any more firm faith in word of mouth than Severus himself did.  
  
Evan and Christoph had seen the Slytherins practice, of course, but it had always been loose and casual. Severus's mind raced. If he did _too_ well, they'd take him straight to the Dark Lord. He might he a Death Eater by this time next week. If he _didn't_ do well, he'd lose his wild card, his card to convince them of his capableness. If they lost respect and forgot how dangerous he could be with a weapon, they'd start to badger him, stop letting him be his own boss. It was thin ice.  
  
Just calm down, he reassured himself. You never show those fools how good you really are… yet everyone gives you a wide enough berth. He dragged his mind to what Liqumbaug was saying:   
  
"… out in the corridor. As fairly mature young ladies and gentlemen, I trust you to line in an order that will not distract you from the task at hand. Rosier and Wilkes will be on the sidelines, out of the way, so no whapping them with your staff." He glanced at the Gryffindors before placing the staffs in a pile on the floor. "Up, grab, out, stretch, you know the tune." He led Evan and Christoph out of the door.   
  
"Oh, my Black Marrria," warbled Black in an undertone, but apart from that the class was following the real tune, knowing the routine.   
  
Most didn't own their own staff; so at the beginning of the year before each had found one of Liqumbaug's staffs that was to their liking. Liqumbaug encouraged them to take the same staff every time. Severus found his shortly - it was the nondescript, splintery one no one else wanted. He had never sanded it, enduring the marks they left on his hands, and no amount of pointy little wood could keep him from being quite possessive of it. He loved the staff, better than the sword. A staff was simple wood, a slightly refined stick; it was more primitive, not entirely forged and crafted by humans but rather by trees, humungous things that grew patiently from specks smaller than cornflakes. So small, insignificant, and how powerful they became, and look what they bore!   
  
"Hey, twerp. That's _Clet_'s staff!"  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. It was Florence van Durischk, Evan's girlfriend. Tall, thin, rich, good bloodline, and snooty, she was Slytherin's unofficial queen since Narcissa Quiner had left. She was fiercely devoted to all Evan's friends… except perhaps Severus.  
  
"N-No it isn't… it's - it's m-mine," Pettigrew protested, his hopeless stutter drawing sneers.  
  
Florence and Cletus pried it from him.  
  
"_Hey_!" Black cried, outraged.  
  
"That is jolly well Pete's," Potter leered.  
  
"Prove it," Cletus said.  
  
"Peter's always had the short staff," Lupin answered. Severus noted how hoarse his voice was and glanced at his Defence Against the Dark Arts rival sharply. Potter had missed dinner last Friday night. Being the sort so popular he couldn't sneeze without being noticed, everyone realised that he and his friends hadn't been in the Great Hall, and there were rumours he had taken ill, as Bertha Jorkins had spread the word that Lupin had ducked into the hospital wing. Apparently the story really went a little differently (as it usually did when Bertha told it). Lupin was far paler than usual, with vivid circles around his eyes, while Potter looked completely healthy.  
  
Florence snickered. "Fighting for the _short_ stick, Petey dear?"  
  
Pettigrew turned bright red but picked up another staff. Most on the receiving end of taunts turn the cruelest themselves; Pettigrew was submissive and known about the girls as the "sweet" one.  
  
"Pete, don't you _dare_!" Potter fumed. "Avery, hand that over -"  
  
"I'm getting no younger," Liqumbaug drawled from the corridor. "Now, please."  
  
With a triumphant toss of gold curls, Florence smirked as she and Cletus left arm-in-arm.   
  
Severus followed, not wanting to arouse Liqumbaug, ignoring the angry muttering of the knot of Gryffindors. Finding the empty corner of the roomy corridor, he set his staff down carefully and began his stretches.   
  
"Mind if we keep a watch here, Sev?" Christoph asked in a casual undertone.  
  
Severus looked up from the floor at Evan and Christoph, already pressed against the wall. He shrugged, unable to refuse but preferring lots of space during drills.  
  
"Okay, set now," Liqumbaug ordered after a few moments of warm-ups and stretches. "Line." There was a rustle as they formed a long line with enough space to move. Evan stayed behind Severus. "Staff at rest position." Severus held his with the thicker end downward in his right hand, arms at his side.  
  
He had been trying to avoid Liqumbaug's eyes, but was impossible. Liqumbaug caught his gaze, expression questioning.   
  
This was the second problem. Their Friday conversation at the library was still on Severus's mind. As they began simple drills, he kept a sharp eye on Lupin.   
  
Liqumbaug had discussed the glory of the Gathering, where one team from each magical school in the world showed. Several rounds of competition would determine the winner. Hogwarts hadn't one in a while - they were always impressive, close but not quite past the Keeper.  
  
Severus would have liked nothing better than to win it - _that_ might draw a word from Mother - but was practical. Worry about Hogwarts's competition first.  
  
Then Liqumbaug had announced his ridiculous idea. Why not join up with Remus Lupin and make an invincible team, rather than be beaten by him?  
  
The worst part was the idea _did_ make sense; it simply went against every one of Severus's survival instincts - be a silver-blooded Slytherin… detest James Potter and everyone around him… avoid senseless Gryffindors… don't upset his Death Eater friends… don't do anything so radical he drew unnecessary attention to himself…  
  
"Lupin doesn't pose a threat to me," he had scoffed, as if he hadn't just been worrying about that very thing. "Look at him. Honestly. If he could beat a flobberworm in a duel I'd be surprised."  
  
"You know that's not true. Lupin's better than everyone but you."   
  
"Yeah, Sir, I know that and you _know_ I know that, but since you know I'm just putting on a good bravado, then pride is satisfied all around."   
  
Liqumbaug had chuckled but made him promise to think about it.  
  
Severus now watched Lupin, who looked exhausted. If it had been a sword he wouldn't've been able to handle it, even if his was probably half of what Severus's was, since Severus had allowed himself a little license with his own.   
  
"Come, Miss Zandel, balance your weight a little more…" Liqumbaug was dropping little pieces of advice as he walked along the line. "… Miss Stacey, make sure the staff is straight… Pettigrew, try to keep in time… same for you, Black… Lupin, honestly, look alive and put some grip on that… Kinser, I'd like to see you repeat the Sunburst after class… Avery, stay with the others, I'll _tell_ you when to go solo… Miss Hollins, if your knees were any straighter… " He pasted Severus without a word and Christoph smiled at him. Severus ignored it and continued to concentrate on the moves.   
  
After about a half an hour, Liqumbaug had only corrected him once, telling him to relax his shoulder muscles. Severus considered purposefully messing up just slightly in front of the two Death Eater spies, but couldn't lower his pride that much and told himself that Evan and Christoph knew him too well anyway. Then the professor stopped them and told them to catch their breath and loosen up again.   
  
"Now, as I'm sure you all know by now, you have O.W.L.s at the end of the year. Black, don't you dare open your mouth for any smart-alec remarks." Black's mouth, previously ready to talk, closed. "Thank you. As you should probably know but may not, your Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. will consist of three parts. First, there will be your favourite, the written exam." Groans greeted this proclamation.   
  
"The second part consists of a battle with a Dark Creature, the nature of which I'm keeping from you because I'm a hopeless sadist and want to see you sweat and suffer."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," Dickon Bright, Severus's roommate, called back.   
  
"You're very welcome, Bright. Lastly, you will be judged in three duels, using guess-which-three-weapons. There is, of course, also a preliminary duel during the Dueling in May, so I decided to combine them. Both your O.W.L. and the leave for you to participate in the Duels hinge on a duel with the staff, sword, and wand."   
  
"Oh, great, lovely, wonderful," Pettigrew spoke up with false brightness. "Just what we need - more pressure."  
  
There were several nervous laughs, but Liqumbaug smiled mirthlessly. "It can't hurt _your_ performance, Pettigrew. We're therefore going to do even more practice battles. Since we have our staffs out and have a few minutes, let's try one." He pulled out a roster of the class. "We'll take one from the top - Avery, step up, please. Rosier?"  
  
Evan handed Cletus arm padding and the "kill" positional cloth for the bridge of his nose.   
  
"How shall we do it this time… Avery and Miss Zandel have battled often… we'll do it by alphabetical halves. Lupin, please."  
  
Severus, remembering how tired Lupin looked, expected him to sigh silently. Instead several people cringed as Lupin stepped forward almost a bit too readily, glaring at Cletus. His eyes were blazing and his mouth was set. Severus was a little worried for Cletus. He knew when his father looked like that, someone was going to get it, and Cletus's taking of Pettigrew's staff was clearly still on Lupin's mind.  
  
The line stepped back to give the duelists room. Evan grudgingly handed Lupin his gear while Christoph set up the thin sticks that showed how far back each could move.   
  
"Next time -- Black and Miss Madison, you're on deck. The first two will be offence-defence practices, lads," Liqumbaug told them. "Lupin, as the so-called guest of this duel, you're on offence first. I hope it's not necessary to tell you both to bow."   
  
They did so, Cletus quickly, Lupin not an inch lower than his beloved protocol demanded. At the signal Lupin stepped forward and brought the staff down at the ten-thirty o'clock. Cletus blocked it easily. Then, with two swift moves swift as lightening, Lupin brought his staff down on the "kill" cloth of Cletus's nose.   
  
There was a stunned silence before the Gryffindors applauded wildly. The Slytherins, and even Liqumbaug, were unable to react a moment. No one, but _no one_, could remember an offence-defence practice ending with three swings of a staff.   
  
Christoph was gaping, and Evan wasn't much better. "Merlin's wand!" he hissed to Severus under the noise of the Gryffindors' claps. "He's _good_! You never told me he could do that!"  
  
"I never knew," Severus snapped. Stupid, really, to show you could do that just because you were angry at a friend being wronged. Now everyone knew what to expect from Lupin at a competition. But Severus was still put out because he knew quite well the feat had been highly impressive.   
  
"But he ought to be disqualified," Florence spoke up with a sneer. "He isn't in the dress code. Aren't our robes supposed to be _black_, rather than grey?"  
  
There were snickers, even from a Gryffindor or two. Lupin's faded robes were definitely in the neighbourhood of the latter. The object of the taunt, however, appeared not to have heard.  
  
"Well done, Lupin," Liqumbaug said tonelessly after finding his ability to speak again, apparently as impressed as anyone else. "Miss van Durischk, with those earrings you're hardly in position to talk. Avery, your turn for offence."  
  
"He didn't even tell Clet to remember to kneel," Kalona Hollins whispered in awe.   
  
Cletus took much longer to succeed at his task. Lupin was apparently intent on causing Cletus as much embarrassment as possible and held back nothing, probably even a little reluctant that he must lose this in the end after all. After seven minutes in which there were several gasps at Lupin's underhand blocks ("I can do them better," Severus convinced himself) Cletus finally managed to just barely touch Lupin's "kill" cloth. Lupin knelt swiftly, nodding to Cletus, obviously just waiting for the actual duel.   
  
Severus tried to get as much information on Lupin's style as possible during the duel. It didn't last terribly long, because despite Cletus's effort Lupin snatched the offence early on, but he was happy to learn that Lupin tended to swing too far to the right and that his uncut bangs often got in his way. This information might mean the difference between winning and losing at the Duels.   
  
Lupin's face was impassive as his House mates cheered his victory. He was still fixed on Cletus. "I can see why you felt the need to steal someone else's staff," he said scathingly.   
  
Cletus, already colouring, turned a deeper red, equal parts shamed and angry.  
  
"Lupin, that was unnecessary. 'Trust thy weapon to do the talking, lest the blade of your tongue pierce thyself'," Liqumbaug said sternly.   
  
Lupin lowered his head, fury suddenly leaving his eyes. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry. Cletus, I apologise for poor sportsmanship." The last sentence was said in a voice so stiff Severus could've dabbed paint on it and used it as a shield.  
  
The sting of embarrassment shared and lessened, Cletus had looked to recover, but then Liqumbaug continued: "Avery? Tell Lupin you accept the apology."  
  
Cletus looked up, incredulous. "But -!"  
  
"Avery."  
  
There was a moment of silence. "Apology accepted," he said resentfully at long last.   
  
"Thank you. Well done; just remember your code of chivalry. All right. Kinser, if you'd co  
me with me so we can go over your Sunbursts, and if the rest of you would give your staffs to Rosier and Wilkes, you're dismissed."   
  
Lupin turned to hand in his staff and padding without another glance at Cletus, but Severus's prideful friend wasn't over. "You just wait, Lupin!" he called. "Just wait until the Duels, when Sev and I beat you in front of the whole school. You won't hold your head so bloody high_ then_!"  
  
Lupin faced him coolly. "What do you mean, 'Sev and I'? If you beat me, it'll be Snape that does it, not you."   
  
Cletus turned to Severus for support. Severus had to shrug. There was little else to say. Cletus had lost terribly and shown how incompetent he was. Besides, although suddenly the thought of fighting against Lupin was a bit more frightening, his mind was on another matter. It was the way Evan and Christoph kept glancing at him sideways, murmuring to each other. Severus overheard "useful" and "pleased" as he tried not to stare at their forearms, where the Dark Mark surely glared amusedly at him from beneath the black of their robes.   
  


_"How can we understand riots by the people for the people  
Who are only destroying themselves?...  
I'm just a-wandering this earth,  
Meeting so many people who are trying be free  
And while I'm traveling I hear so many words...  
And you're the only other person to know"  
-- "I'm Just A Singer In A Rock-n-Roll Band", The Moody Blues_  


  
**TBC   
**


	4. The Question Is Abruptly Answered

**Very special and sincere thanks to Lindsay Leigh, Moonrose, Lavander Ice, Voldeem Riddle, enoimreH, Laurus Nobilis, Ayla Pascal, and Ginny Potter. And of course extreme gratefulness to Sorensen for this beta'd version.  
  
Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. I'm playing in her toybox because I get writer's block on my own work. I will return all characters in fairly decent condition. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment. _  
**

  
Chapter Three - The Question Is Abruptly Answered  
  
_Day: 7 Month: 12 Year: 1976   
_  
With the hissing, fizzing sound of liquid atoms fusing, the ice green potion swelled and slowly overflowed the dark cauldron, slipping to the floor. Remus groaned. He knew something was wrong when his mixture showed no sign of turning blue, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow - his eight attempt at the Syncopation Solution had failed. Quickly he hurried to clean up the mess, finding the solution burning him whenever it met his flesh.  
  
Professor Ellicha glanced up from the homework she was correcting and grinned, not unkindly. "Mr. Lupin, you do realise there's some battles you just can't win?"   
  
"Yes." Remus pushed sweaty hair from his eyes with the back of his hand.  
  
"Do you really want to try again?" It was late evening. Remus had spent the last hour and a half in vain trying to brew the potion in question properly, not having done much during class save providing free entertainment for more able classmates.  
  
He sighed. "I think I should, but I know I've taken up a good deal of your time already, Professor."  
  
"Nonsense. These papers'll keep me buried until the first match any way you slice it." She stood, rolling up her sleeves. "No, I'll prepare the cauldron. I want you to figure out your mistake on this one. Work out the equation."   
  
Finding the back of a corrected Charms assignment, Remus puzzled it out. His quill scrawled the formula and inserted _x_, which stood for "the error". By the time Ellicha had refilled the cauldron with icy cold water, he was still wrestling with the maths.  
  
She peered over his shoulder at the half solved problem and apparently finished it in her head: "You forgot to put in the yellowfly marrow, which would have prevented the two columbines from reacting to each other and fusing."  
  
"But wouldn't the marrow make the aconite useless?"  
  
Ellicha laughed lightly. "Have you forgotten the Table of Elements?"  
  
Remus looked pained. "That applies here?"  
  
"My dear boy, you're helpless," Ellicha said with a click of her tongue.  
  
"Yes ma'am. I know it." He didn't sound sarcastic.  
  
Ellicha actually smiled. "I'm being harsh; you're far from the worst I've seen. Look here, we'll try it again. You start on the caterpillars. Mind you cut them evenly." She began pulling apart tufts of aconite and fed them to the boiling cauldron. Remus was relived. The aconite had been giving him a dizzy headache, which hadn't made the confusing potion any easier.   
  
"Your mind is a bit focused on the Duels?" Ellicha asked, measuring yellowfly marrow and pointedly circling the "1and1/2 vial" on his instruction sheet.   
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
She looked at him in slight surprise. "Why so? It's perfectly natural to prefer to work on things that come easier to you. I remember that I was wretched at Transfiguration and spent as little time as possible working on it. It's understandable. It's what you _like_."  
  
"Yeah," Remus whispered to himself, "but now everyone _else_ is forcing me to focus on it as well." Life had taken a sharp turn since the skirmish with Cletus Avery three days ago. As much as Remus himself wanted to put it out of his mind, every classmate wanted to bring it up. Most Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were congratulating him again and again, asking to hear his point of view on it. He spent a good deal of time dodging them, partly out of shyness. He never really understood the fact that he was decently popular, due to his friendship with James and Sirius. It was also partly because he didn't want to sound like he was bragging or bad mouthing anyone. This was also, however, because he didn't want to further anger Avery's friends, who were out for revenge.  
  
Just yesterday fourth-year Sillian Lestrange, who was a lot bigger than him, gave him a black eye in a corridor. Florence van Durischk was nastier than ever, Evan Rosier took ten points from Gryffindor because Remus was supposedly making too much noise in the library, and Avery continued to bring up the Duels at every available opportunity. Remus had found himself wondering wistfully what a quiet meal was like, since the Great Hall was when most Slytherin antagonism went on.  
  
To make matters even better (he thought sarcastically) this morning Flitwick announced during Charms that he and Liqumbaug would be instituting special classes on certain evenings for those who wanted to take their dueling even further. Mainly because Avery and Snape would be there and Remus couldn't chance them getting yet another advantage, and greatly because he was just plain interested in the subject, he knew he was going to go - but he still wished he could push thoughts of the Duels from his mind for a while.   
  
Avery had not failed to remind him many times of that dreaded date in May - the Duels - and how thoroughly he was going to "get" him in front of the whole school. Remus could have dealt with this with a roll of the eyes had not the whole school already heard. It was now a huge gossip topic, the challenge he, Remus, had supposedly begun with his massacre of Avery last Monday. Frankly, all he had intended to do was avenge Peter.   
  
Peter. Sadly enough, Liqumbaug was right. They had practiced Tuesday, and it was unavoidable - Peter was just lousy with a weapon, as good as he was with his mind. Meanwhile, Snape was doing absolutely nothing to halt the common belief that Sev Snape was planning to do his best to pay back Remus Lupin come May as well, as much as possible, and it worried the latter.   
  
Why on earth did Snape have to be _good_ at it? Why couldn't he, Remus, have held his temper? How come he showed the technique he had spent five months perfecting in five furious seconds?  
  
He tried to convince himself he was getting worked up over very little; the Duels would come and go just the way they would and there was no helping it; that this would die down as most things did. But his dramatic teenage mind was telling him that it was a lot worse than that.   
Furthermore, his rational mind was scolding him for how ill prepared he was to face Snape and Avery. He could do little about Peter but cross his fingers. He could, however, try to improve his own capabilities. Due to the anxiety over James's transformation before, during, and after his own, the thought of trying to learn to duel directly after exhausting full moon nights had completely slipped his mind, and he was angry with himself for forgetting.   
  
_James is all right now; that's the important thing. As for the Slytherin front… pay attention to your potion, Lupin. Pretend that it might actually work if you concentrate. _  
  
"What's that?" Ellicha inquired.  
  
Remus shook from his thoughts. "Wha - oh. Er, that could be it, I suppose." He pushed aside the caterpillars for the moment (they were used after the second columbine) and gingerly began handling the first columbine, namely, toadstool fungi.   
  
"Use both hands to scoop that up; you'll get enough then," Ellicha said briskly.   
  
Remus did so obediently, wondering just who would use a Syncopation Solution in the first place. Apart from Aurors and the Hit Squad, perhaps.   
  
_Both hands_. Now there was an idea! How much of an advantage would he gain if he could handle his weapons with both hands easily? What was it called? Ambidexterity. That's it. Athena, his older sister, who was now married, had once said some people were born that way. Could you learn to do it? Most things could, with a ton of patience and time.   
  
He decided to ask.   
  
"Of course you can learn. Quidditch players do it all the time, especially Beaters. It takes a lot of time and patience" (_ahem_) "but it's more than possible. Why?" Then she grinned. "Oh. Got an idea for dueling, have you?"  
  
Remus flushed - just after he had tried to concentrate on the current task, he was caught red-handed again with his mind elsewhere. "Maybe."  
  
"Don't worry. I wouldn't tell Cletus Avery if my life depended on it. I don't trust that one a mite and don't care who knows it. It'd be a happy day if you can make him eat his words about humiliating you in front of the whole school. But onto something else before I get sacked for showing favourism. If anyone asks, we were talking of… Quidditch. Right?"  
  
"Of course we were. There's a game this weekend."  
  
Ellicha's eyes danced wickedly. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin. I'm all for the former, of course; I was a Hufflepuff in my day but wouldn't I love to see Jonas Liqumbaug shut up. He's gotten quite grumpy since ol' Gryff won the past two years. Do tell your friend James to do his best."  
  
"He always does… I will - what the…?"  
  
Ellicha cried out in alarm. "Good gracious, don't you dare put that in there until you rinse the stirrer."  
  
"Oh." Remus quickly pulled it out, but the damage appeared to have been done. A wisp of dark magenta seeped through the perfect ice blue. "I'm sorry - I didn't realise -"  
  
Ellicha looked thoughtfully at it before quickly pouring in Sicilian grape lymph. Slowly the foreign colour dimmed, until it was only a little darker blue than the rest. "I think it should be okay now… adjust the equation for that, in case we need it."  
  
Wincing, Remus turned to the parchment, trying to figure out where to add this unorthodox ingredient. He felt a sudden urge to bite the end of his quill in frustration and suppressed it in horror at the wolfish tendency that had sprung up. Finally he inserted it and combined it with the baxitives, crossing his fingers for luck.   
  
"No, add that in as a different variable," Ellicha corrected. "It's not common with baxitives."  
  
After scratching out about half of his equation and rewriting it, Remus finally got it right.   
  
"If you want to quit…"   
  
"No," Remus said stubbornly. "If this is going to be on the O.W.L.s I've got to make sure I've been able to make it at least _once_."  
  
Ellicha laughed. "Like riding a broomstick. Once you learn, you never forget?"  
  
"Something like that… I think. And now I have to stir it?"  
  
"For ten full minutes," she nodded. "If all goes well then, we'll add in the last few ingredients, let it boil, and hopefully it'll be done fine."  
  
"Note the key word: 'hopefully'," Remus muttered to himself wryly. Ellicha went back to her papers, and the only sound in the cool dungeons was the scratching of her quill as it viciously reduced essays to mere English practices and the low hissing of Remus's potion as he moved the large wooden stick around in controlled circles.   
  
The silence was broken quite abruptly. Suddenly Professor McGonagall burst into the room, looking frightened. "Anneth? Rara's wing has been broken into - we're doing a check of all the students - the Talisman of -" She spotted Remus and cut off. "Lupin? Where've you been the past three hours?"  
  
"Th -"  
  
"Mr. Lupin has been right here with me," Ellicha said quickly before Remus could speak. "I will confirm that, if you mean he's under suspicion."   
  
McGonagall relaxed a fraction of an inch. "Very well."  
  
"Jonas is trying to pin it on anyone but his precious snakes, I suppose." Ellicha's smile was grim and twisted.  
  
"_Professor Liqumbaug_ is doing nothing any Head of House wouldn't do," McGonagall said in the sharp voice that always made Remus wince and snap to attention. "As for the _important matters_, yes, Professor Avis is perfectly safe, thank you very kindly."   
  
Ellicha blushed, chastised. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to show unconcern for Rara. What was it - vandalism, robbery?"   
  
Remus quickly appeared to be intent and mildly frustrated with is Syncopation Solution (which was actually going quite fine, for once) as McGonagall's glance swept over him. Satisfied he was oblivious to the conversation, McGonagall walked to Ellicha's desk and related the event in whispers. Remus strained his ears to overhear.   
  
"… stolen… the room… overturned… childish…" _This helps. From that it could've been everyone except Fawkes. _Professor Avis taught the Study of Ancient Runes and her old curious artifacts were school legend.   
  
"But doesn't she have those charms protecting the wing?" Ellicha asked loudly.   
  
McGonagall clenched her teeth and made an indistinct noise to indicate Ellicha to quiet her voice. Remus could catch no more of the talk. What had McGonagall said? "Talisman of -"? There were a lot of talismans in Avis's collection. Which was taken… to deduct that, he'd need to know the identity of the thief or their purpose - preferably both…  
  
Ellicha sighed and ran a hand through her hand as McGonagall left, looking distracted and tired. The flickering light of the torches caught her clear brown eyes, reflecting brilliantly off pent-in tears.   
  
"I think it's been about long enough now," she spoke up, surprising Remus, who thought she was too far upset to think of potions, of all things. She stood and checked his cauldron. "Quite good, Mr. Lupin. I think we've got it. Add in the adoil essence."   
  
"Professor?" Remus asked, deciding she wasn't as traumatised as he thought.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why'd you tell Professor McGonagall I was in here the past three hours? It's been two, at most… not that I'm complaining, but -"  
  
Ellicha looked down at him, smiling languidly. "Oh, come now. I know quite well that you'd never steal Rar - Professor Avis's Talisman of Death."  
  
*  
  
_Day: 8 Month: 11 Year: 1976 _  
  
"Very well. So you have it. _Congratulations_. Shall I send you a card, Miss Greyson? What do you intend to _do_ with it? I could have all the means and power in the world but it helps little if I just _have_ it. You've done nothing but put all of us under suspicion, little girl." Florence sniffed down at the girl, who stared evenly back. Stella Greyson had eyes Severus believed must be painted - heavy lidded and deeply etched into her strong face.   
  
He had to admire Stella, however, for standing up to Florence so squarely. Or perhaps he admired Florence for maintaining authority over Stella, a fourth-year Slytherin with a commanding presence, a sharp mind, and the ability to rouse people up into her way of thinking. Stella would probably be Slytherin's leading witch once Florence left. _ In fact_, Severus mused, _Florence might have some competition already. Most of the younger Slytherins listen to Stella more than her. There might be a mini-war going on soon. _He wondered immediately where'd that place him - could he hide more easily under it all? Or would it endanger him if he had to choose which to "support"?   
  
Severus rolled his eyes. The popularity contests between Slytherins could be aggravating beyond measure.   
  
"I've taken more action than you, Florence," Stella retorted boldly. "I have means. I can help by… disposing… of someone. If this Dark Lord of yours asked you to kill a Mudblood within the school, how would you go about it, Florence?"  
  
Severus's mouth fell open. Closing it, he glanced sharply around the little room off the Great Hall. It was empty save for them thus far, but he doubted it would be that way for long. "Will you two _shut_ it?" he hissed. "You don't want to be advertising this when Liqumbaug and Flitwick arrive."   
  
"Liqumbaug's on our side, Sev," Cletus said lazily.   
  
Severus raised an eyebrow.   
  
"He's Head of Slytherin. He's not stupid."  
  
"That means nothing," Severus said. "Many Slytherins would turn us in if they heard this. St - Florence, Stella" - there was no need to upset Florence, who was probably a Death Eater already - "you two aren't here for class. Get out before someone wonders why you're here."   
  
"I decided to stay around and see what goes on," Florence said smugly. "However, little ickle fourth-years, I agree, should be going to bed about now." She glanced down her nose to Stella, who scowled faintly.   
  
Severus was dying to ask Stella how she even knew they were among the Dark Lord's followers but bit back his tongue. He knew asking questions could make others wonder why you asked and place you in tricky situations. Keeping your mouth shut as often as possible was his method for survival. Usually the question would be answered if you waited with ears at the ready long enough anyway.   
  
Haughtily, like a cat on supreme dignity, Stella left and nearly bumped into Liqumbaug and Flitwick at the door.   
  
"Miss Greyson? What are you doing here?" asked Flitwick, levitating about forty swords without the least trouble. Flitwick was ridiculously diminutive in height, but Severus knew full well he was more than competent. Quite apart from being Charms master and Head of Ravenclaw, he was renown around Britain for his fantastic ability to handle several spells at once and was once a great duelist himself. Probably still was - like riding a broomstick, it was hard to forget the art once you learned it; it just got a tad rusty with disuse.   
  
Priming her face and lips, Stella answered demurely: "Just carrying supplies for Florence van Durischk, as Her Highness wished. Good evening, Sir. Good luck with your class." She walked through the door to the Great Hall without another word, leaving the two teachers to glance at Florence suspiciously. Florence was seething. Through clenched teeth, her mutterings sounded somewhat like: "How _dare_ that little brat…"  
  
"Warm-ups while we wait for your classmates?" Liqumbaug prodded. "Miss van Durischk, that short skirt will get you nowhere. I suggest hurrying to your dormitory and changing."  
  
She flung back her cascade of blond curls, looking mutinous. Severus made a mental note not to cross her tonight.  
  
Florence had never rushed in her life, so by the time she returned mostly everyone who was expected to attend was there - with the exception of the four Gryffindor boys of the year. Liqumbaug chose to ignore this and Severus wasn't about to complain.   
  
"Dueling and combat, particularly in times like these, are possibly the most important arts I'm able to teach you in your years here. These basic skills, which you have learned, can be expanded on so's to protect you and the ones you care for." Liqumbaug looked sober and serious, especially with only the dim light of the fireplace illuminating the room. "While Professor Flitwick and I know quite well the greater portion of you are here merely to gain an edge in the staged competition later in the year - quite natural and to be expected - we also hope you to learn skills to defend yourself throughout life. Everyone here has a certain aptitude for this art -"  
  
The door opened yet again, revealing the infamous quartet of mischief, breathless.   
  
"You're late," Liqumbaug continued quietly.   
  
Pettigrew looked up at him, eyes round. "We can explain, Sir. We had been going down to the Great Hall when Peeves showed up. He pelted us with leftover pudding, so naturally we had to stop and wash up when Fi - Mr. Filch yelled at us. Once we finally got to the sink the water pressure zoomed on and left us soaking. Then we got hollered at again for tracking water about, and, by the way, I think Mr. Filch has a headache. Just a warning to you all. We were searching for Professor Flitwick 'cause we forgot the Drying Spells before we remembered he was here anyway."   
  
His sincere tone and the innocent faces of all four boys caused several chortles among the Marauder fans in the room, mainly non-Slytherin females.   
  
"That's very interesting, Mr. Pettigrew," Flitwick nodded, "considering you're completely dry."  
  
Now everyone laughed, including Pettigrew. Potter, Black, and Lupin, with a shameless minimum of blushing, grinned good-naturedly. Flitwick ordered them to pull up some floor and Liqumbaug continued.   
  
"These arts can overcome various disadvantages. I have no great magical talent, truthfully, but you need very little with a staff or a sword."  
  
"Meanwhile, my wand had always ignored the fact that it's taller than me," Flitwick offered with a smile.   
  
"Precisely. Professor Flitwick, as you may well know, was one of the few to out-duel Grindelwald himself at the height of his power, and he was very young then as well. There are many ways to protect yourself against many of the dangers today, and what we are demonstrating is one of them."  
  
"Good," Katya Peterson said. "I need something to protect me. I know Sirius Black wants to ask me out on a date. I have to say 'no' forcefully."  
  
Black pretended to rub his chin in worriment. "Good thing I'm learning the same things as you, Kat."  
  
Robin Heyworth looked distraught as Katya smiled radiantly at Black.   
  
"We're going to do - you guessed it - more practice battles," Flitwick cut in. As two Ravenclaws groaned, he looked a little stern. "The only way for you to get better is by practice. There's no shortcut on that score. However, the biggest purpose of this is for me to evaluate your style. Professor Liqumbaug knows you all quite well but I do not. Therefore, I can get a feel for you, and you get the all-important practice. Next Tuesday we'll have another session and work on some nuts-and-bolts."  
  
Since they were fifth-years, were left to their own dueling devices, and had a competitive streak, most broke into small groups of connected teams, the winners squaring off, although the Slytherins and Gryffindors kept a good distance, the former with the Ravenclaws and the later with the Hufflepuffs. In addition, of course, no partners faced each other. It was an unwritten law that it was bad vibes and courtesy, so Severus battled (and defeated) everyone but Cletus of the two Houses.   
  
"This is depressing," Bernard Freed of Ravenclaw commented.  
  
Severus was not satisfied, however. He had been anxious to see how well he could stand up to Katya Peterson's infamous speed in a duel, but since both Heyworth and Black had been vying for her attention, he doubted she had been performing to the best of her ability. It was a hollow victory, and he felt more than a little sulky.   
  
"Katya? Katya?" he asked, with as much patience as he could muster.   
  
Katya blinked and continued listening to Heyworth.  
  
"Katya!" Severus called loudly. "Can we try that again, please?"  
  
She held up her index finger, indicating for him to wait. Severus disliked waiting. Sighing, he leaned against the wall, careful to make sure his hair didn't catch fire from the torches, and watched Florence and Cletus duel lazily. Finally, after several moments, Katya bounded over to him with her radiant smile, gold hair flying behind her. "Sev?"  
  
"Can we please duel again, now that Black's engaged with someone else? Preferably before his heart turns ever faithfully back to you?" Severus jerked his head irritably over to the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff end of the room, where Black was bowing exaggeratedly to Tess Abbott's friend Sophy Candlemaker, who made no effort to hide her pleasure at the attention.   
  
She giggled at first and then sighed heavily. "Must you humiliate me again?"  
  
"If you concentrate you may well win," Severus snapped. "Try keeping your eyes in the right place."  
  
Katya possessed the grace to blush. "All right, all right, if you insist." With nothing more than a smile, she made a knot of their yearmates move aside to give them room. "Rob, draw boundaries, please?"   
  
Heyworth did so. They were rather small, and Severus grimaced. He developed temporary claustrophobia during duels but figured he had to ignore it.   
  
Katya was swift. She had obviously done plenty of drills, but Severus sensed that her defence was more quick than strong. It would take a few minutes to decide just how durable it was, so he decided to drag out the battle a little while, even though he knew several curses that would end it promptly.   
  
Then there was a sudden explosion from the other end of the room when someone chanted: "_Reducto_!" Severus didn't pay it any mind; he had trained himself to not be distracted and so was only dimly aware of shouts around him. But suddenly a pointed piece of wood was flying straight into his eye! -  
  
"_Lumos journeus_!"   
  
The wood turned to ashes with a _whoosh_ of jet blue fire. They fell to the floor at his feet, showing how close he had come to being blinded.   
  
"Oh, gosh, Lily, I'm sorry!"   
  
"What was _that_?" Florence demanded regally.   
  
Slowly, every head turned to the source of the debris, where there were some very shaken Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.   
  
"That, Miss van Durischk, was Lupin's example of how to thwart a Shield Charm," Liqumbaug replied calmly. "Miss Evans, are you all right?"  
  
Lily Evans was being supported by the remaining little oak table and Lupin, the latter of whom was brushing wooden chips from her fire-red hair and apologising profusely, looking a little surprised, but not in any life-threatening danger. "Yes, Sir, thank you. I just - whoa. That was interesting, to say the least."  
  
There was a hesitant laugh.   
  
"Excellent."  
  
"I got burnt!" Katya cried, clutching at the golden locks Severus had singed. "Ow…" Her neck had a small burn as well.   
  
Flitwick hurried over to apply balms while Liqumbaug smiled wryly. "That, Filius, is the   
_style_ of certain duelers in here when they get a bit too enthusiastic. Namely Snape and Lupin."  
  
"I see indeed." Flitwick shook his head.  
  
"Now, class, you probably all know now, thanks to this demonstration, that while the dreaded Shield Charms can prevent spells and hexes, they can be demolished by, oh, blowing up Headmistress Volum's ancient oaken tea table, sending it flying into a billion pieces." Another laugh circled the room.  
  
_Blast it_, Severus thought. _That's a good idea_.   
  
"Lupin, while excellent in theory, I strongly suggest working on control. It was a tad too strong, to say the least. Someone might have gotten seriously hurt. Do you understand me?"  
  
Lupin turned redder than Katya had previously, eyes lowered. "Yes, Sir. I apologise."  
  
"Bear that in mind for next time. _Control_. Is anyone else hurt? No one? Sure? Don't be shy. Oh, look who I'm talking to. Never mind." He turned and both teachers turned to another pair of duels as a buzz of excited chatter filled the room.   
  
"Say!" Godfrey Nickels shouted out suddenly. Nickels was the only male Hufflepuff in the room, prone to crazy ideas that nearly always provided good entertainment. "Someone should square Remus and Severus Snape off."  
  
Severus rolled his eyes - he wasn't sure if the idea of a Slytherin/Gryffindor match would appeal too highly to either of the supervising teachers - but noticed uneasily that there were several replies to the effect of: "Yeah!"   
  
Suddenly more and more people turned to look at the two boys in question, eyes hopeful. "Come on, Remus," Black prodded, jerking at his friend by the wrist. "This'll be fun."  
  
"Are you sure?" asked Potter, slightly more realistically.   
  
"That might not be the best idea," Pettigrew said.  
  
Lupin squirmed from Black's grip. "Sirius… no… save it, will you?…"  
  
Severus's Housemates glanced at him, waiting. They had wanted something like this for a while. Severus felt panic rise in him. After what he had just seen, he was less certain than ever he could hold his own - and if he lost? He lost his wild card, the card that allowed him to walk the edge of Death Eaterdom freely.   
  
Even if he _won_, his goal of keeping his finer talents a secret before the actual Duels was shot. That reduced his chances of winning them as well. He eyed Lupin in high annoyance. If only he'd incinerate on the spot… it'd solve a load of problems…  
  
Yet everyone was still looking on, waiting for the duel of the century, and Black used his wand to poke Lupin in the back sharply and make him step forward.   
  
"We can't fight," Severus spoke up quite suddenly, a lie forming out of the blue. A truth was safer than a lie, but sometimes there wasn't any convenient truth. "We're partners for the Duels."  
  
There was a pause in which nearly all their classmates as well as Flitwick wore an expression of: "Yeah, right." Liqumbaug, however, looked very satisfied. He smiled and held himself even a little straighter than usual. Lupin - thank goodness - kept his expression neutral.  
  
"Excuse me?" Tess asked, exchanging a worried glance with Lily.  
  
"We agreed to partner up for the Duels," Severus explained, incredulous as usual at how some people needed everything repeated. "Come on, Lupin, didn't we? Or is that another joke your little crew made up?"  
  
Lupin hesitated for a barely noticeable second. "Yes," he said at last. "So it probably wouldn't be quite right for us to duel, right?" The classmates he addressed looked a little blank. "Maybe some other time after they're over." He turned back to his friends, very firmly ending the discussion. Severus had changed his mind. Lupin was no longer a mindless Gryffindor; he was quick and sharp and a damn good actor, and if Severus lived through the night he just _might_ tell him so. Lupin was even crafty enough to cleverly not lie a bit - he hadn't said they _did_ agree beforehand. It was worthy of a Slytherin.   
  
Only Cletus and Pettigrew had to be reckoned with at the moment. Severus could see Lupin mouthing silently: "I'll explain later," to Pettigrew, who looked a little bewildered and put out. Pettigrew dragged Lupin to a quiet part of the Great Hall after the session for what looked to be a serious discussion. Cletus was going to be much tougher to calm.   
  


_"Ooh, you're lyin' so low in the weeds,  
I bet you're going to ambush me  
You'd have me down, down, down, down on my knees  
Wouldn't you, Barracuda?...  
And if the real thing don't do the trick  
No? You better make up something and quick  
You're going to burn, burn, burn, burn to the wick..."  
-- "Barracuda", Heart_  
  


**TBC**


	5. Quidditch Saturday

**A/N: I am so blessed to have the most supportive, intelligent, and ego-inflated reviewers on ff.n! Okay, I may be biased there, but a sincere thanks all the same to Aliera, BeckySharp, Demeter, enoimreH, Ginny Potter, Hana-chan, Iggie, Laurus Nobilis, Lavander Ice, Moonrose, and Triskelion. And of course Sorensen Black - whoops, no, just Sorensen *grin* is to be thanked for her volunteer to beta.   
**

  
Chapter Four - Quidditch Saturday  
  
_Day: 9 Month: 12 Year: 1976  
_  
A hand snatched Remus's shoulder in the hall, turning him roughly to face the speaker. It was Rupert Wood, a strong Gryffindor sixth-year who was a frantic fan of Quidditch. "So, Lupin, who're you supporting tomorrow?" he snarled.  
  
Caught off guard by this show of distaste, Remus replied with a lack of ceremony: "Who d'you _think_?"  
  
"Don't know about that. Going to be decked out in green and silver?"  
  
Remus couldn't have been more bemused if Rupert had began an anti-Quidditch league. "Of course not!…why wouldn't I be cheering Gryffindor?"   
  
"Not's'if you've been showing a whole lot of lion spirit."   
  
Remus blinked. "H - Wait… this isn't about Snape, is it?" Suddenly, the distantness of his Housemates all day made a lot more sense.   
  
Rupert spat an indistinct noise of annoyance. "I'm asking you."  
  
Remus shook his head, trying to get away. "That has nothing to do with it. I'm not about to transfer to Slytherin - what's wrong with teaming up with someone outside your own House?"  
  
"Nothing, just not…" Rupert's expression was of other disgust "…_snakes_."  
  
Remus readjusted the weight of his schoolbag on his shoulder. "Excuse me, Rupert. I'd like to finish this homework."   
  
" 'Sociating with those murdering little killers…"  
  
An annoyed Remus was dying to remark that Rupert's statement was redundant but bit his tongue. He headed to the library, which was a tad freer of the euphoria epidemic of the Gryffindor common room. Remus _was _a staunch Gryffindor supporter, loved Quidditch and was highly loyal and protective of his House, probably a result of the years he had thought he would never belong to any of the famous four and instead branded an outcast forever and completely. But sometimes they all got a little noisy before a game.   
  
He got the hint when he got inside and was greeted by a series of hisses from a group of Gryffindors of his age. He bit his tongue again, hurt, but was too practical to get terribly upset just yet. Gryffindors were temperamental and emotional; he knew this wouldn't last very long. Until then, he'd just find a different table to work at.   
  
Easier said than done - even most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff, allies in anti-Slytherin feelings, were cold to him. A Gryffindor joining with a Slytherin in any activity? Unheard of and frowned upon. Remus had to wonder at this after hearing some whispers about how he and Snape now practically had the school competition won, and how they'd be a real threat at the Gathering. Wasn't that a good thing, that Hogwarts would be competitive? Couldn't - shouldn't - you be loyal to your school as a whole as well as House?   
  
But perhaps that was just him. In the unlikely event he'd have to choose between Gryffindor pride or Hogwarts and Dumbledore, he'd stand by the latter first. He bit his quill thoughtfully as he mentally worked out his Arthimancy, recalling the wonderful rush of joyous adrenaline at the letter Albus Dumbledore sent him five years ago.  
  
After a quarter of an hour, Remus became aware someone was behind him. He continued to write his Transfiguration assignment, waiting warily for him or her to speak.   
  
"Erm. Ahem. Can I talk to you a second, Lupin?"  
  
Remus turned now… it was Snape… he nodded, a little cautiously. No matter what he had told Peter or the rest of Gryffindor, he still wasn't sure what to make of Snape at all.   
  
Snape, very carefully, as if he might trip some sort of ward spell, sat down next to him, making very certain their elbows did not touch. He glanced at the Arthimancy and grimaced before facing Remus. "Thanks for playing along last night."  
  
Remus shrugged. "Figured you had some reason." Snape looked slightly suspicious and looked at him searchingly. Remus answered the unspoken question: "Your eyes looked a little frantic."   
  
"Did they?" Snape replied, faint worry in his voice, and it was the most emotion other than dislike Remus had ever detected in him.   
  
"Yeah. Or maybe I just imagined it. Either way, you must've said that for some reason."  
  
"Liqumbaug said he talked with you." It was Snape's turn to shrug, his face becoming as cool and sheltered as usual, as if ashamed of the small lapse of his front.   
  
"Last week." Remus was about to voice his opinion that it wasn't only Liqumbaug's suggested that prompted Snape's impromptu lie the night before, but decided against it. It wasn't as if he and Snape were sitting down to have some philosophy talk; this was most likely going to be about dueling, really. Merlin's wand, what else could the two of them talk about?  
  
Now Snape sounded faintly impatient. "Well, d'you think he has a point?"  
  
Remus set his quill down completely. "Point meaning…?" Snape looked ready to scowl; being with James so much, Remus was qualified to tell when he was about to do so. "Severus, if the question is 'is this okay with you?' then the answer is 'yes'. If the question is 'd'you think we might do well?', the answer is yes. If the question is 'can we do this without killing each other in exasperation?', well, we'll have to wait and see for that one."  
  
Snape paused, looking a little surprised, but not entirely displeased. In fact, Remus would've said he saw a ghost of a grin smile cross his face if he hadn't known better. "Oh… right then." He forced down the almost-smile before continuing: "What if the question was 'when and where and how often will we meet to practice?' - we do have a lot to do, having never worked together before."  
  
Remus relaxed just a bit; he was glad Snape was taking charge but hoped he wouldn't get to become too much of a dictator. "How often d'you practice yourself?"  
  
Snape looked superior. "Every day, at least twice, if possible."  
  
"Oh good. We're on a similar schedule." Remus grinned to himself as Snape raised an eyebrow, incredulous.   
  
"Really." It wasn't quite a question, but it also wasn't a statement. "You don't think we could do it three times a week?" he finished doubtfully.  
  
Still eying each other cautiously, they worked out the three days best for them.   
  
"Do you want to practice now, at least to see where we are?" Remus asked after this was agreed on.   
  
Snape shook his head. "I can't; we have a Quidditch practice for tomorrow about… about now," he glanced at his watch and stood. "Good-bye," he said stiffly.  
  
"Good-bye," Remus replied. "Good luck with practice."  
  
Snape looked suspicious. "It's against Gryffindor, you know," he pointed out after a short silence.  
  
_Yes, yes, I **know**. Honestly, who else wants to remind me?_ "Yes, of course. But good luck all the same."  
  
"Th -" Snape cut off, still studying him like a demonstration in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was not a pleasant thought to Remus, who dismissed it hurriedly. "You say too much you don't mean, Lupin." Without a further word, he swept from the library.  
  
Remus watched him go, nonplussed. "He's odd," he spoke aloud to no one in particular.  
  
_Day: 10 Month: 12 Year: 1976 _  
  
It seemed that no matter how many times after other times James pulled off yet another dead spectacular game, by the next match he'd again show nerves. James was so rarely unsure of himself, but Quidditch did it, despite the fact few others could so much as touch him when it came to flying.   
  
"James, hush and try to eat something," Remus said gently, interrupting him and Sirius. The three all knew that "you'll be fine, you always are" had no effect on their Chaser friend, so they had other ways of bringing him 'round. Sirius's was to get into a huge mock battle with him. James was always so keyed up that no one was sure if he really believed they were fighting or not, but all in all, it didn't work quite as well these days as it once had.  
  
"Are you kidding?" James shot back weakly, staring at his full plate (several girls, including Miranda Stacy, had made sure of this) as if it was about to well up and burst in his face. His shoulders were hunched and glasses askew.   
  
"You really want Aidian to clobber you with those Bludgers, don't you?" asked Peter, who never had a problem with food, no matter how apprehensive he was.   
  
This had the desired result. James rested his head on his elbow but slowly forced down several bites before standing and heading off to the Quidditch lockers without another word.   
  
"He's always so moody before a game," Peter said nonchalantly.   
  
Sirius wasn't as lighthearted. "Damn it, he's going to get _hurt_ if he doesn't eat a proper breakfast."  
  
"You sound like Arabella," Peter needled.   
  
"What's wrong with that?" Sirius snapped.   
  
"Nothing."  
  
"'Bella would never say 'damn'… at least not if she thought I was listening…"  
  
The circular conversation continued and wasn't broken when Remus suggested they go out to the field. He ignored them and the attempts of Sillian Lestrange to trip him as they headed out to the field. James's gloomy, dire predictions about what the weather would do loomed mockingly in the form of large overcast grey clouds, but for the moment no rain fell and the winds didn't seem distracting. There was a sluggish humidity, but that was actually a disadvantage to the Slytherins - with their underground quarters, they were more sensitive to heat.  
  
Sirius and Peter's argument finally ended as a group of Gryffindors waved them over excitedly. The boys hopped to their spot in the stands, gratefully accepting the shared loan of Omnioculars.   
  
"How d'you think our chances are?" Miranda Stacey asked after a few moments.  
  
"Our chances of a lockdown or a long, hard-won battle?"   
  
"You'll notice how the thought of _losing_ never crosses his mind," Peter stage-whispered.  
  
"Should it? Here, Lily, like this." Sirius adjusted the Omnioculars for Muggle-born Lily Evans.  
  
"It's a possibility," Remus pointed out, then wishing he hadn't said anything. Now of all times he didn't want to be accused of Slytherin bias.   
  
"Did anyone hear who's commentating now that Mikey left?" Mina Hopkirk asked after a few moments of anticipating chatter.  
  
"I didn't hear -" Sirius began, but cut off with a groan. Lo and behold, Florence van Durischk was sitting next to Professor McGonagall with a satisfied smirk - as well as the magical microphone.  
  
"That's hardly fair!" Peter cried.  
  
"Oh, goody." Lily rolled her eyes. "Just what I wanted - a one-sided commentary."  
  
At that moment, the two teams marched onto the field, cutting off a buzz of protest at Florence's position. The Gryffindor fifth-years set off a spirited shower of scarlet and gold sparks, met spurt for spurt by the Slytherin supporters. James looked positively green and refused to catch anyone's eye.  
  
"You'd think this was his first year as captain or something," Sirius muttered, but even without Omniocular assistance Remus saw all traces of doom leave James from the moment of kick off - they were in James's playground now, and everyone was playing in his natural habitat.   
  
Luckily, between Sirius shouting next to his ear and distant thunder, van Durischk's voice was almost completely drowned out. Remus loved Quidditch - flying as well as watching, but he had never attempted to try out. He was content with the alternative, although James stubbornly (and deafly) signed him up as reverse Seeker.   
  
Rudy Giles-Patil seemed to be perfectly healthy at the moment, though, to Remus's great relief, so there was no need to worry just yet… but to the delight of most fans, his Slytherin opposite, Dickon Bright, headed him off just as well, and for hours the Snitch never got close to caught. Remus personally found ten-minute lockdowns, even in favour of Gryffindor, rather a letdown after how much anticipation they all put into it.  
  
The score was 100-80, Slytherin leading (although from the Gryffindors' angry and disappointed reactions it might've well been a two-hundred point default), when lunchtime could be put off no longer, particularly considering how much of the crowd was adolescent and male. Since no one was willing to miss too much of the match, one person from each cluster of friends would collect food from the Great Hall for the enjoyment of the rest. The Gryffindor fourth, fifth, and sixth-years drew straws; the lot fell to Alfrieda Cresham, who returned, rather bad-temperedly, saying she couldn't bring it for them _all_.   
  
Remus volunteered before a civil war broke out; Slytherin's lead was depressing enough to force a break anyway. It wound up taking three tries; he was ambushed and tripped the first two times by students who refused to accept his vow of loyalty to Gryffindor. One accused him of brandying out and helping with the fiery havoc wrecked in Aberdeen the night before. Irritated, he snapped a few things he knew he'd regret when he calmed down and stormed outside for the third time, running into Cletus Avery.  
  
He sighed. Just who could make this better - Gryffindor losing, harassed by his own allies - and now Avery. Where exactly was the falling meteorite?   
  
"Ah. Our flashy-staff rogue," Avery smiled nastily.  
  
"Hallo, Cletus." Remus tried to sidestep him and failed.  
  
"Now wait a second, Remmy, don't be in such a hurry to leave. I'm hungry."  
  
_Remmy?_ Remus was about the only one around them who didn't find it amusing. Snickers surrounded them. Since aligning with Snape, he'd lost support of Slytherins and non-Slytherins alike. Sirius had lost his own anger with Remus over the affair in anger at this sudden shunning; Remus had rolled his eyes and told Sirius to calm down since he had no interest in popularity contests anyway.  
  
"Well, it's not too far inside." Remus may not have been worried about popularity contests, but he had to admit it was slightly heartening when a few people grinned.  
  
Avery halted a moment at this reply but quickly picked up his thread. "Yeah, but you're so much closer." He reached out a hand.  
  
Remus glared at him. "_Excuse_ me, Cletus."  
  
"You're excused." Avery continued to help himself.   
  
"Avery," Remus snapped, annoyed that he couldn't stop him. His hands were full.   
  
"Whoo, surnames. Now little Remmy's getting angry," Avery smirked. Several more giggles.  
  
"Oh, quit it, Clet," spoke up a sharp voice from Jennifer Burns, a Ravenclaw fifth-year, who, to his discomfort, had a rather strong crush on Remus. Luckily she was very sensible about it and usually took his hints very well.   
  
"But I'm hungry, Jen dear." Much to Jenny's discomfort, Avery flirted continually with _her_, and now gave her what was apparently a look of great pleading that was supposed to win her heart.   
  
Jenny gazed at him from her shrewd brown eyes for a moment before her expression softened sarcastically. "Oh, yeah. Remus, how could you be so cruel-hearted? Poor little Cletus can't manage that big long scary walk to the Great Hall."   
  
Avery deliberately bit a sandwich.  
  
"Yes," Remus said consideringly. "You know, Jenny, maybe you're right." He made a move as to send one of the plates into Avery's face, not meaning to let gravity get that far along. Unfortunately, his timing was a little off and the feint failed. The thing flipped around for a few rotations, spattering bits of food on both boys.   
  
Why, oh _why_ did everyone have to find this confrontation more interesting than the Quidditch game? And no one was leaving now.   
  
Quite to Remus's vague amusement, Avery did get a large amount of pudding on his face, the effect being ridiculous and marvelous. Quite to Remus's decided annoyance, the greater part landed on him. And Avery far from lost the chance to gloat. Only until Jenny helped him with a few quick cleaning charms did Avery decide the show was over and stalk off, only throwing a few mocking remarks and threats over his shoulder.   
  
"He's getting annoying?" Jenny guessed.  
  
"Very. Thanks, Jen."  
  
"If James gets a break, tell him I said good luck." This was Jenny's trademark act: pretend she was more interested in James than anyone, and Remus was only more than happy to play along.  
  
"Sure thing. I doubt he will, though. And he'd probably never take it," he finished with a laugh.  
  
"That's James," Jenny grinned. Then she paused and added quickly: "Don't worry about Avery. He's all talk, and you're ten times better than him." She disappeared almost as soon as the words left her mouth, leaving Remus somewhat embarrassed and somewhat pleased.   
  
Peter obviously wanted to ask why they only had half of what they had wanted and why it had taken so long by the time he got back to the stands, but had been rather standoffish lately and relayed this message to Mina, who then asked Remus, thinking it had been her idea in the first place. Remus told of the incident, stripping it of many of the details, but as it turned out, Peter got the gist of the confrontation.  
  
"That git!" he muttered, and "git" was harsh language for the soft-spoken Peter. He was then silent a while, thinking. Remus barely noticed. The game had taken a sharp turn, and there was a chance that Gryffindor would regain its lead.  
  
Slytherin's Keeper was Snape, and he was good at it. But it was the opinion of most, supported by the stats of the past few years, that Gryffindor Chaser Potter was better. This was definitely a sore point with Snape, who never seemed to be happy when Quidditch was brought up, and when recent Gryffindor/Slytherin matches were talked of, became even sulkier than usual.   
  
James would have loved to play wide-open, but often let the other two Chasers, Ted Marague and Ice Hollins, sixth-years, take over if the game seemed to be in a lull after the first exciting half-hour. It had taken him a while to reassert himself and get in sync with Ted and Icey, but he was there now, and with a vengeance. Florence van Durischk grudgingly reported during the next ten minutes that James Potter of Gryffindor had scored - and had to repeat those hateful words two times afterwards.   
  
They were on a roll now. The Gryffindor Chasers got into a swift rhythm. Icey's specialty was scoring and feinting, Ted's passing and setting up, and James had the rare combination of all of them. Together they put the Quaffle past a solid eight times in a half-hour.   
  
Gryffindor was exuberant.   
  
Now Remus was especially glad it was Rudy Giles-Patil playing and not himself; the pressure on him was palpable. It was time for the Gryffindor Seeker to find the Snitch, before the heavy Slytherin Beaters grew even more vicious than they already had, while Gryffindor had the lead. James had a staunch rule that no Snitch should be caught if Gryffindor wasn't leading, whether it would win them the game or not. It lost precious points in the big picture - the Quidditch Cup.   
  
Rudy did his best, but the Snitch just was not in his - or anyone's - sight (luckily, that included Dickon Bright). The hour of high victory passed, and Gryffindor's 100-plus lead began to dwindle as the Gryffindor Chasers tired from their effort and the Slytherin Beaters got more brutal and accurate as time went on.   
  
Next to Remus, Sirius was seething. It was a well-known fact he really wanted that Beater spot, and the fact the Gryffindor Beaters were doing an average-at-best job did not make him happy, as he was sure he could do so much better. Remus secretly suspected Sirius might have made the team last year, or the one before, but James was afraid of hearing that he let his best friend on the team "just because". The idea was strange. James had always seemed above those sorts of concerns. But it was rather obvious, at least to his inexpert eye, that Sirius could do better than what the current Beaters were.  
  
It looked to be a match that might last until nightfall… and had they been sure they would have won, Gryffindor would have been delighted.   
  
*  
  
"You can't eat your cake and have it, too," Arabella Figg, Sirius's godmother, was fond of saying. This proved true for the Gryffindors. Rudy finally caught the Snitch at around five in the afternoon, when Gryffindor had a twenty-point led, so they had won the match - which was good.  
  
They had also missed out on their night game, a rare treat everyone was more than a little disappointed about, particularly Remus. The last Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match had lasted two days, but the end had come when he had been in wolf form in the old Asher house. In fact, he had never seen Quidditch at night - Madam Pomfrey had kept him firmly in the hospital wing the night before the full moon, much to his undisguised outrage, and he'd never had the chance to watch one before. (Pre-Hogwarts, his lone Quidditch game had been in the Venderbury village swamp, and neither of the teams had seven players). From the way his classmates raved, he was sure he was missing out on an essential part to a wizard's life and the greatest miracle one ever had the chance to witness.  
  
Gryffindor _had_ won, however, and they had much more than the Slytherins, who had lost out on their nocturnal game _and _had a load of shameful and aggravating what-ifs to ponder and fume about all night. Not that too many Gryffindors felt any sympathy. There was going to be a hell of a party that night in their common room; who cared what happened in that of their bitter rivals'?  
  
Peter, as usual, was separate from the cheerful crowd as the party started and would be all night unless someone did something. Remus suspected Peter was still upset with him, but caught Sirius's eye and went over to him anyway to try convincing him to join in.   
  
He was staring out the window when the two arrived. "Poor old Avery," he smiled dryly.   
  
"Still cleaning up?" Sirius guessed. Avery was reverse Seeker for Slytherin, and obviously wanted to take that a step up. For the past few years, however, he had been regulated to slaving for the Slytherin team in hopes of gaining that spot. He and Dickon Bright were in the same year. Avery spent a long hour after each game clearing everything for his teammates.   
  
"Yeah." Peter smiled at them. "Want to take a stroll outside and see if we get any… 'inspiration'?"   
  
Remus and Sirius grinned. "Inspiration" was Marauder-speak for "grand idea for a prank". But Sirius drove hard bargains. "When we come back, you join the party."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Laugh at most of the jokes."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Cheer."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Flirt with Alexandra Donnellson."  
  
Now Peter hesitated. "Deal."  
  
Sirius stared. He hadn't expected to get that one.   
  
Peter shrugged, looking rather pleased he was one up on Sirius. "Avery's been picking on us lately, 'specially Rem. I think it's about time to even things up."  
  
It was Remus's turn to stare at Peter, in grateful surprise. Peter had been furious last Thursday after their dueling lesson, and even after he had cooled down was very stiff. Remus thought he could sympathise, reasoning he wouldn't like it if Peter had so suddenly ditched him to work with someone else, a Slytherin none of them particularly liked, especially. Yet Remus still felt annoyed, and couldn't shake the feeling that he'd still have the same logic: It was nothing personal, it was just a question of who you would do the project with best. It _did _affect their grades, after all. He always tried to make sure none of them was stuck with him for Potions. Now he felt rather guilty for his annoyance.  
  
Sirius hissed something to James, who was in the thick of things, asking to borrow the Invisibility Cloak. James insisted on coming along.  
  
"Possessive," Remus teased him as they quietly headed to the field. After managing to sneak from the common room unnoticed, this task was a cinch.   
  
"I'm not possessive!" James replied defencively. Sirius sniggered. "I just want to be in on the lark. When do I get details?"   
  
Peter gave them to him as they walked outside; James was soon grinning ear-to-ear. Usually even the Marauders didn't like making a fool of an innocent bystander, but enemies who had been heckling them were free ground. This sounded like very sweet revenge to James. "So what're we going to do?"  
  
"We're going to figure that out as we go along. Let's sneak up one of those towers that surround the field. Then we can check on Avery to make sure he's still there and he has less a chance to see us," Sirius suggested. The vote was unanimous.   
  
Marauders being Marauders, they had figured how to open the secret hollow space inside each of the stone pillars surrounding the field a while ago. Remus and Peter remembered to cast simple Muffling Spells as they clamoured up to the top, exchanging furtive smiles of forgiveness as they worked. Remus couldn't have been happier - the miff was over, and they were in the midst of what just might be a fine prank.   
  
"Any ideas?" Sirius hissed once they had hidden themselves a-top and confirmed Avery's solitary presence on the field.   
  
"Not a one," Peter shook his head. "You know I'm not good with that."   
  
Remus had to confess to not feeling any sudden burst of creativity at the moment, either. During the past few days he hadn't remembered to tuck away any inspirations for future use.  
  
James, who had begun to look serious - well, matters _were_ serious, they were in need of inspiration - suddenly smiled. He pulled out his wand and pointed it to his throat. "Stay quiet and play along," he ordered. The others nodded in excitement. Truth be told, James didn't put up ideas as often as Sirius and Remus, who had a near-constant supply they were chronically pumping out, but when he did get inspiration, it was always well-worth the wait. "_Sonorus_."  
  
The result was a few skeptically raised eyebrows.   
  
"Cletus!"  
  
James's voice boomed throughout the stadium, magnified and pompous, echoed, regal, but vaguely recognisable. "Cletus Avery!"  
  
Remus wanted to cast charm that would disguise his voice, but was uncertain - perhaps James _wanted_ it to be identified. Sirius - who could practically read James's mind the same James could read Sirius's - had no such hesitation and promptly performed it. James grinned at him gratefully.  
  
Below them, Avery had tensed, straightening, cocking his head for the source of the call. "Who's - "  
  
"Cletus - this is God, Cletus. I saw what you did last night, and I am**_ ticked_** off!"  
  
Avery was now standing, face pale, and visibly shaking. The sight of his trembling was almost too much. Remus and Peter needed to use more Muffling Charms; James was the only one not nearly dying of laughter.   
  
"Who's there? Bluffing!…" Avery sounded both angry and uncertain, a combination that was very satisfying to the Marauders.   
  
"You heard me, Cletus…" James continued. "I've been watching you, now don't think I haven't!"  
  
There was a decided silence as Avery kept shaking, brushing sweat off his face. "I've been doing nothing!"  
  
James opted for silence. While they had suspicions that was a falsehood to end all falsehoods, no one had a very specific idea of _what_ Avery had been doing. Besides probably taking orders of some sort from the Dark Lord.  
  
"Who's up there?" Avery craned his neck up. "Potter! Black! Lupin! Pettigrew! I _know_ that's you!"  
  
James was obviously yearning to make a decidedly Marauder-favoured remark; Peter shook his head, apparently thinking they should try to not blow their act. Avery hadn't sounded very certain, so there was no need to make him so. So instead James replied -  
  
"You'll have to look farther up than that to see _me_, Cletus!"  
  
Avery continued to glance over his shoulder and skyward until he hesitantly left the stadium.   
  
"You know the worrisome part?" Remus said thoughtfully as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, where Housemates were speculating James's, and probably Sirius's, and probably even Remus's and Peter's, whereabouts.   
  
"Hmm?" Peter and James replied. Sirius was still chuckling at the priceless expression on Avery's face.  
  
"Av'ry got really nervous when James mentioned 'what he was doing last night'…"  
  
"So he was obviously doing something," James nodded in satisfaction.  
  
"Unfortunately. And something else, too… someone tried to terrorise Aberdeen last night. Fires and all."  
  
Sirius winced. They may have all suspected it, but so much proof on the matter was a little nerve-wracking. The war was suddenly a few steps closer - one of their very own classmates was on the bad side of it. How much longer before they would take positions on their own?   
  


_"Tune me to the wild side of life  
I'm an innocent young child sharp as a knife,  
Take me to the garretts where the artists have died,  
Show me the court rooms where the judges have lied  
And each day I learn just a little bit more,  
I don't know why but I do know what for...  
If I was an artists who paints with his eyes,  
I'd study my subject and silently cry  
Cry for the darkness to come down on me  
For the confusion to carry on turning the wheel."  
-- "This song has no title", Elton John_  


  
**TBC  
  
[Shame on all of you. No one caught the hidden joke in Professor Avis's name from last chapter. Chocolate Frogs to anyone who points it out in their review... Speaking of which, as my fourteen birthday has just passed during the past week, I would be incredibly happy with a nice (constructive, of course, but sheer praise doesn't hurt either) review as a gift. *wink*]  
  
**


	6. Slytherin November

**Rather Long Author's Note:  
  
Ack! It took a while to realise it's been over a month. Preparation for school takes up a distressing amount of time. *clenches teeth against sigh* Thanks so very much to Aliera, Antares, Blackletter, BeckySharp, Demeter, enoimreH, Faith, Flamewing, Laurus Nobilis, Lavander Ice, and Moonrose (odd that everyone's names are in the first half of the alphabet, non?)  
  
Extra note: shortly after writing this, noone too important also reviewed. Also a thanks to you, my dear woman/man, and I suppose we're past the first half of that alphabet now.  
  
*pulls out Canary Cream* This is for Flamewing's guess on Rara Avis's name and the hidden meaning -- no, not quite correct (nice catch, though), but it was one of two attempts and warrants a prize. *heaves boxful of Chocolate Frogs* And this is for Antares, who got it right! (Well, my translation was a teeny tiny bit different: the phrase is used for anything wonderous and unusual.)  
  
While taking a leave of absence on this fic, I've written two one-shots that are under this account name, "So Glad To Break It To You" and "The Hole in the Roof". *coughcoughhinthint* Oh, and to everyone who enjoyed "So Glad" -- it's sparked two other fics in the same universe. Just from curosity, who would be interested in reading (one is a direct sequel, another the scene where Moody/Crouch searches Severus's rooms), and does anyone care to vote for Remus's eye colour? I need one and can't pick.   
  
Newsflash: I have it on good authority that Demeter -- make sure you're all sitting down, folks -- _doesn't "hate" Gryffindors!_ No "hate"! *everyone in room collapses*   
  
*winks at Demeter* Thanks for being a good sport. I'm just joshing with you a bit. *hands out Galleon Gift Certificate for Honeydukes*  
  
*claps hands* Rambling finito. (Warning: I'll maturely stick my tongue out in gratitude to anyone who tells me I spelled "finito" wrong.)  
  
Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment. _  
**

  


**Chapter Five - Slytherin November   
**

  
Severus stared at the ceiling of his dormitory. The pattern always intrigued him. It was a geometrical marvel. Yes, Arthimancy was his worst subject (he grimaced in the darkness as he remembered his pile of homework left) but he knew this was incredible.  
  
Shimmering silver and deep velvety green intertwined across the ceiling, and by torchlight it looked as if the hues were dancing. At first glance it only swung their partners around into fourteen dignified circles, as if in a ballroom. As you examined it closer, as Severus had often done, you understood the colours inside of those grand sweeping circles better - now the colours divided into rich tones and swung around in perfect precision within, each swirling in and out with a partner… green draped its arms around silver, silver held up the hand of the green…  
  
He was getting soft. His thoughts of how it danced - he had even constructed a rough poem about it once in Arthimancy - were insane.   
  
But it was so _perfect_. And beautiful. He wondered what it looked like in other Houses. Was it the same pattern, but in respective House colours? The Hufflepuff ceilings, in that case, probably resembled squashed bumblebees and crazy hippie outfits.  
  
The Slytherins were going to kill him. Once you got to fifth-year, your Housemates ceased to be so unconditionally supportive. He might as well finish that poem, as a last reminder of his life, to prove he had made one useful surviving artifact of his fifteen years. He had failed them. Gryffindor had won. James Potter, Ted Maraugue, and Icey Hollins had put goal after goal through the posts he had been supposed to defend. Severus's mediocre performance, which really wasn't awful at all when it wasn't compared to Potter, would not go unnoticed.   
  
Severus had heard the old Keeper, Howard Bole, complain that it wasn't fair that Potter had so much talent, when the rich little brat didn't need it. Severus agreed. His practical side told him he was stupid. His other side told his practical side to shut the hell up. His practical side retorted that Severus could be working on Arthimancy rather than moaning about the match.  
  
Arthimancy. Involuntarily, since no one was around, Severus groaned. He hated Arthimancy. He was failing it this term, too, and his father was going to be furious. Again. And Mildred was going to have Frank tutor him again. The thought caused Severus to scowl.   
  
_I ought to get to work on that…  
_  
Slytherin was going to kill him before his father got the chance to frown at him so much as once. Not just because of his performance - they were at least used to that - but because he had blown off an opportunity to meet the Dark Lord the night before.   
  
Evan had causally suggested to him that if Severus came along Friday evening after Quidditch practice, that he'd be able to meet the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and Evan would be sure to put in a word about his remarkable special abilities. Sev, he had said, stood a very comfortable chance of becoming in the Master's very good standings.  
  
"I need to keep practicing," Severus had told him, in his infamous bored monotone and expressionless face. He found the fact that he was known for these attributes useful, now that he needed to hide his feelings like never before. "I'll don't think I'll be too much in his favour if I let Gryffindor win."  
  
Evan considered this. He was the team's Captain, and very insistent on Slytherin pride. Finally he nodded consent. "Good point. Too bad you have to miss this chance." He smiled, almost dreamily, making Severus feel more than a little scared. "There's going to be a raid tonight…"  
  
Severus nodded tightly, but nodding tightly was not out of the ordinary for him. "Have a good time. I'll cover for you." He would, too, so long as he didn't have to face the Dark Lord.  
  
Liqumbaug walked stoically into the Slytherin common room the next morning, level but demanding to know if anyone had not been accounted for the night before or if anyone was missing from their dormitories.   
  
Luckily, by the time Liqumbaug had received the news, Evan, Christoph, Cletus, Florence, and the three other Death Eaters of the House were safely back in bed, not having to act grumpy and bleary, as they already were from lack of sleep. Stella Greyson looked as though she was dying to give Florence away, but kept her mouth shut. Giving away the side she wished to join was not a good idea, and Stella was clever enough to know this.   
  
_I'm not involved in any of this. I don't want to be involved. I don't fully agree with either side. Why must I be dragged into this? _He thought of those who would love his position… Stella Greyson, who wanted to become a Death Eater so badly… James Potter, who wanted to defy the Death Eaters so badly… no, the role had been given to Severus Snape, who couldn't care a silica less about the ambitions of either side. He cared for himself. And Mother…  
  
He wanted to write her tonight. Under his bed, in a tightly charmed box none of his dorm mates knew of, was the two hundred or so letters he had written to Mother, unsent.  
  
But Mother was an Auror. She'd want him to make a stand against the Dark Lord. She'd be ashamed of him -  
  
The door opened with a loud bang. Honestly, Cletus had no concept of entering softly… annoyed that his thought train had been broken, Severus turned to Cletus with every intention of giving him his most unnerving glare and turning away with a pointed silence.   
  
But Cletus - dunderhead if there ever was one - spoke up first. "S-Sev, d'you - d'you believe there's actually a God?"  
  
Severus had to work to prevent his jaw from falling. What kind of stupid question was _that_ to break into his pondering with? And since when did two soon-to-be Death Eaters talk of God, anyway?  
  
He did not reply. Wordlessly, he turned on his side, and without changing into nightclothes, feigned sleep until it came to him.   
  
*  
  
_Day: 14 Month: 11 Year: 1976_  
  
Severus had expected a hard time from every House, including his own, for joining with Lupin, and he was right. The Slytherins were literally hissing angry. But he didn't care much, or told himself he didn't, except for Evan, Christoph, and Cletus, and anyone who might relay false incriminating things about him to the Dark Lord. And, truth be told, in an odd, twisted sort of way, he did sort of care for Cletus and Evan and Christoph… they were prats, yeah, but who else did he have?   
  
But the young Death Eaters had been calmed by an innocent, casual remark from Cletus. Severus had been racking his mind for an excuse, and in the end it was Cletus, who had been most angry of all, who suddenly laughed and exclaimed:  
  
"I didn't see it before, Sev!" He clapped Severus on the shoulder; Severus stiffened. "You've had this in that quicksand mind of yours all along, didn't you, Sev? You're a good man, Sev…"  
  
Severus was not one to look a gift broomstick by the twigends or to ask questions. Sure enough, he was answered.  
  
"What're you prattling on about, Clet?" Sillian Lestrange demanded.  
  
"Sev's setting up to give Lupin what for, of course."  
  
Ah. Severus tried to hide an ironic smile. Self-centered, conclusive Cletus…   
  
And the others shook their heads incredulously, smiling slightly themselves, some fondly, some worried about having to compete with Snape on their way up the Dark Lord's ladder. None doubted that Severus was plotting revenge against Remus Lupin - although no one was sure quite how, they were positive that Lupin was as good as packing for when Severus would force him to leave the school in shame.  
  
Pity Severus didn't know how he was planning to accomplish this, either. And funny, wasn't it, how easily some outsider could incur the Slytherin gang's wrath. As far as Severus could see, Lupin hadn't done much wrong, other than be a little foolish, but "foolish" described his own friends the greater portion of the time.   
  
But Severus was still going to punish the Gryffindor for whatever-it-was. Although, he felt he had time. He'd wait until after the Duels. As long as he was working with Lupin, he was too good of a partner.  
  
Last Friday in the library, the two had arranged to meet in one of the empty fifth-floor corridors at four-thirty for their first session together.   
  
Severus got there before Lupin and began his stretches and warm-ups until the Gryffindor boy arrived, bag slung over his shoulder.  
  
Since Severus had been waiting twenty minutes, he was not in any better a mood than per usual. "You're late," he snapped.  
  
Lupin didn't appear the least bit perturbed. Not having a watch of his own, he brazenly walked over and glanced at Severus's before meeting him square in the eye. "You're early." The time was four-thirty-two.  
  
Severus, still a little out of breath, couldn't find a retort, so settled for scowling.  
  
If Lupin noticed, he didn't show it. He dropped his staff - Severus scowled more deeply at such carelessness - and, more cautiously, rested his sword on the floor.  
  
"Aw, is the sword a bit too heavy for Pomfrey's little pet patient?"   
  
Pomfrey's little pet patient turned sharply and looked unnervingly at Severus. "Does someone pay you to act this miserable to everyone, or is that just your hobby?"  
  
"Too bad no one'll pay you for that. I remember a time you dressed decently."  
  
"Are you Slytherins so unimaginative that when insulting me you always fall back to the state of my clothing?" Lupin's tone was deeply irritated. Severus had never suspected this was a true sore point with him.  
  
"You'll have to answer my question first." Severus was determined not to let Lupin beat him at his own game.  
  
"Say 'please'," Lupin shot back.  
  
"Say 'sorry' for being late. Not to mention such a lame comeback."  
  
"I'll say sorry by immediately setting to work, how's that?"  
  
This caused Severus to pause a moment and consider matters. Had Lupin won their verbal battle, Severus would have been forever bitter. Had Severus won, he would have always felt superior to Lupin, and Lupin would have fast gotten exasperated at Severus's silent gloating. However, this draw turned out to be passable middle ground. The suggestion was far too practical for Severus to find anything to dislike about it, and so he pulled himself up.  
  
"Which first?"  
  
"Whatever you want."  
  
"Staff." Not wanting anyone to think he was anything but perfectly impartial and neutral, even in likes and dislikes, Severus quickly tacked on a reason: "Seeing as the sword's giving you so much trouble and all."  
  
"You like the staff best, don't you?" Lupin asked as he finished his own warm-ups and reached for his staff.  
  
Severus felt like hitting him. "No. I told you. It doesn't seem as if you can handle it today."  
  
"Oh." If Lupin had been a different sort of person, he would have smirked. As it was, he smiled dryly. "Thank you so very much for your compassion - that's all, right? Nothing but everyone else's best interests in mind?"  
  
Lupin turned away as Severus stared at him a moment. It was unsettling. None of his mates in Slytherin had ever seen through him in that manner. It was a reminder, Severus decided. Not everyone was as easy to fool as Cletus Avery - he'd have to be careful around Lupin, but it was good practice for the real world. And the Dark Lord.  
  
"No," he said blandly. "Just yours. But that's only because if you collapse while we're alone, I'm sure to be blamed. If I'm to get in trouble for your death, I want to have really done it."  
  
Lupin grinned. Severus shook his head. If he had to put up with Lupin's incessant cheerfulness until May, he'd go mad. The idiot couldn't even see an insult when it was slugged across his face.  
  
*  
  
_Day: 21 Month: 11 Year: 1976  
_  
Severus's waves began to die down in the next few days as other whirlpools and storm clouds sprung up in Slytherin House. Just about everyone was ticked off about something or another, starting with Florence van Durischk - and when Florence felt unhappy about something, she made sure everyone else shared in her misery.  
  
The cause of her fuming was Cletus, who had been slipping in both Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Quite naturally, Professor McGonagall had given him a Gryffindor tutor, Lily Evans, which caused Cletus to sting with the humiliation of being under a Gryffindor Mudblood. Possibly worse, however, was Professor Liqumbaug's assignment of Florence to help him in studies.  
  
Florence was seething at the loss of her free time and taking it out on Cletus; Cletus was surly over his shameful academic punishments and taking it out on Florence. In this war of wills, they seemed to be at a standstill.   
  
"I got to pass these O.W.L.s, Sev," Cletus rambled on during evenings in the common room, as Severus ignored him. "I'm dead if I don't and don't understand any of this lot…" He kicked a pile of books irritably. Severus, as a prefect, could have chastised him for showing disrespect to property but didn't. "I'll be held back if I don't pass…"  
  
Severus had his own studies-related problems, by the name of Arthimancy. He just couldn't grasp it. Just when he thought he understood the lesson, they threw in some curve that upset the whole balance all over again. His determination to conquer any obstacle failed when a parchment sheet of figures glared up at him.   
  
Arthimancy really had no point. He couldn't see how he would ever need it in real life. But that didn't take away the sting of having that pathetic blundering Peter Pettigrew passing Arthimancy with flying colours while Professor Vector held everyone back to go over the lesson "one more time". She never said whom it was for, but everyone knew. Severus had developed a secret fear that she'd soon follow the other teachers' leads and have Pettigrew help him in spare time.   
  
He was doomed to spend the rest of his school years with Gryffindors.  
  
Evan was irritable as well, because his girlfriend had to spend so much time with Cletus, and as he was the unofficial leader of the young members of the Dark Lord's order, took it out on the close lot of them.   
  
Sillian Lestrange was displeased because now that Severus was partnering with Remus Lupin he couldn't go around picking fistfights with Lupin every other day. Stella Greyson was bad-tempered because no one seemed willing to let her join the would-be Death Eaters. And everyone was jumpy because they knew Stella had a Talisman of Death hidden in her dormitory. Florence had demanded Stella turn it over to her; Stella refused to hand it over to anyone less than the Dark Lord himself. After watching Stella's cold, set eyes, even Severus was sleeping uneasily.  
  
The one bright spot for all of them was that no one had been caught, accused, or recognised during their attack at Aberdeen. Silently, several sighs of relief could be heard. When all was said and done, Severus reflected, they were all just kids and knew it. They weren't as tough as they had long since been forced to make themselves appear.  
  
Severus had one more thing to worry about come Wednesday, however. He and Cletus were heading over to the Quidditch field; after their defeat, Severus had nothing to lose by training harder, and Cletus, who wanted so badly to overtake Dickon Bright as Seeker, was always ready to practice.   
  
"D'you hear something, Sev?" Cletus asked out of the corner of his mouth as they passed the greenhouses.   
  
Severus wanted to quip "I sure hope so", but since Cletus wouldn't understand the wit, he opted to shake his head silently instead.  
  
"That rustling…"  
  
Now the Keeper did hear. "Yes…" He wasn't particularly worried. The number of things that "rustled" at Hogwarts - couldn't be counted if you tried.  
  
"What d'you reckon it is?"  
  
Cletus had been incredibly keyed up as of late; Severus rolled his eyes. "A chimaera."  
  
The blond-haired boy flinched. "You think?" he asked lowly.  
  
"No, you idiot, it's probably someone's pet or some bird or whatever," Severus snapped.  
  
"It's awfully cold out for birds or pets," Cletus put in hesitantly, whether from fear of the rustler or Severus it was hard to tell.  
  
Now Severus had to pause. Cletus had a point. "That's funny. Stupid animal."  
  
There was a throaty growl. Both boys halted, Cletus's eyes wide, Severus's alert and on edge, hiding his own trepidation. "Stay still, Clet," Severus ordered after a tense moment of silence.  
  
The next moment, the rustler made it known. Cletus ran in the opposite direction within one nanosecond of recognition. Severus did not move - he was suddenly filled with dread as well, but Grims were omens of death, not the cause. He faced the large, black dog squarely.   
  
Severus was vaguely comforted by the fact that the dog seemed to have feelings as well - he could have sworn it looked a little surprised that Severus held his ground. But then he growled again, baring his teeth at Severus. Although decidedly more shaken, Severus was determined not to lose his pride, even in front of a Grim. If it really was one.  
  
"You'll have to do much better than that," Severus said coolly.   
  
The dog rose to the challenge with a spirited lunge at Severus's leg, motioning to bite.   
  
"_Sev_! Get the hell out of there!" Cletus called. Even Cletus, who, if truth be told, didn't have his act together as well as he should have, had long since learned not to yell frantically, but Severus could hear his voice wavering a bit all the same in fear.   
  
There was no reasoning with Cletus. He either made up his own fantasies to satisfy his mind with, or just refused to listen to reason at all. Severus, more shaken by the dog's attack than he dared would have admitted, complied and followed the fidgety Cletus.  
  
"The Grim doesn't kill you, it just tells you something else will," Severus said lazily, heart racing at the thought of death. He was young. What a hackneyed thought. But true. He hadn't time to do everything he wanted to do; he hadn't seen his mother since he was two…  
  
"No one ever stuck around long enough to find that out for sure, and you're not going to be the first one, Sev!" Cletus shot back, white-faced and white-voiced. "Let's go back, Sev, I don't want to be out here…"  
  
"Nothing to be worried about," Severus said, injecting the right amount of impatience in his voice, but then he cast an eye skyward and said they might as well - it looked like rain.  
  
*  
  
There was one adult in the school Severus trusted, although just barely, enough for him to indirectly ask about the Grim.   
  
"Nice evening, Snape," Liqumbaug greeted after Severus knocked on the door to his office, indicating the one window in the room with his hand, from which a few grey clouds but not a hint of precipitation could be seen. "So I'm supposing you want a book."  
  
For some reason, Severus was rarely bothered when Liqumbaug occasionally teased him about his reading habits. If anyone else mentioned them, he had no reaction but to scowl and snap back.   
  
"Yes."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
Severus looked up at his teacher in surprise. It was unlike Liqumbaug to refuse him the loan of his extensive collection of Dark Arts books. Liqumbaug was half-smiling.  
  
"You're not just snatching a book and running off. Sit down and help me grade these." He shoved a stack of second-year rolls of parchment, a red inkstand, and quill to Severus.  
  
"Where're the questions? I don't have the textbook memorised, you know."   
  
"Remarkable." Liqumbaug handed him the book as well. "Watch your tongue, please, Snape."  
  
"Yes, Sir." They were silent for a few moments as they worked, with only scratches of their quills accompanying the quiet, the same tune the colours on the ceiling of Severus's dormitory often danced to.   
  
"So what do you want, Snape?"  
  
"Grims. Believe they really signal death?"  
  
"The same way I signal pretty witches."  
  
This stopped Severus a moment. Liqumbaug was unmarried, yes, but he just wasn't the sort you thought of dating and thinking of "pretty witches", so he wasn't sure if that was an affirmative or a negative. "Have any books about them?"   
  
Liqumbaug pressed a copy of _Death Omens: What to Do When You Know The Worst is Coming_ into the boy's hands. Its cover featured a depiction of a massive dark dog, nearly identical to the one who had appeared to Severus and Cletus.  
  
"Don't believe everything in there," Liqumbaug advised. "You'll grow paranoid and your imagination will be working overtime."  
  
The irony of this statement struck Severus, for Liqumbaug's next words were: "Severus?"  
  
The surprise of hearing his first name caused Severus to look up from the book. "Yes?"  
  
"What were the lot of them doing that Friday week before last?"  
  
"Which 'lot' are you referring to?" Severus asked seriously.  
  
"You know which lot. The group of would-be murderers you hang with - Rosier and Wilkes and Avery and van Durischk…"  
  
Severus stiffened. Okay, Liqumbaug might be right, but you didn't just go around insulting Severus's mates like that. Had it not been Liqumbaug, Severus might have thrown a few curses. Somehow, though, when Liqumbaug said those words, they sounded more natural. More easier to accept, because, after all, he was right. "When was this?"  
  
"Snape. You know. Middle of the night. Midnight, like."  
  
Half of Severus Snape was nervous. He had to make Liqumbaug believe him. Half of Severus Snape was calm and cool. Not a problem. Lies, easy lies.   
  
"Really, Professor, midnight? Middle of the night? I was asleep. Most normal people sleep at 'midnight, like' - I imagine they were either being normal people or having one of their silly drinking games."  
  
Liqumbaug sighed through his teeth and leaned back in his chair. "They were doing something else, Severus."  
  
Severus remained quiet, glancing up as if slightly interested, tacitly inquiring what he meant.  
  
"I know they're too young to be Death Eaters yet - although they're heading there - but they were involved, however indirectly…"  
  
Severus's eyes naturally sought the safety of his book. He had thought he liked Liqumbaug - well, he still did - but the Defence Against the Dark Arts master was as idealist as anyone under Dumbledore. Liqumbaug was firm in his blind belief that things were happy and pure and golden and good and innocent, and that youth, even the youth of the Dark Side, were happy and pure and golden and good and innocent. "Too young." Too young, indeed. No wonder their side was losing the war.  
  
*  
  
_Day: 29 Month: 11 Year: 1976   
_  
A note came that morning, telling Severus that he was to come "home" - very inappropriate word, but Severus had no chance for a derisive reply - to Rowena's Valley for the holidays. He grimaced. A plan had already been worked out all over his Arthimancy notes for dueling training schedules over the holidays. Going to the Longbottoms' would not allow him to stick to it very well.   
  
Muttering a few obscene things under his breath, his eyes wandered around the Great Hall and found his dueling partner, who was trying to pretend he had never seen nor heard Sirius Black before in his life, highly uncomfortable as Black started a spectacle that seemed to involve him, although his eyes were laughing. Severus wondered if Lupin would be staying over Christmas, and would have that much time to train. He had never much noticed Lupin; he only knew anything of the entire group of his out of enmity, and he and Lupin rarely had too much to have rows about, not like Black, who would pick fights with you if you so much as looked at him or his friends the wrong way.   
  
Severus wouldn't ask Lupin directly, of course; it was too trivial for that, and why ask the question when you could find out without showing you wanted to know? Severus languidly, as if in a nonchalant daze - and this did happen enough with him to avoid suspicion - crossed the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table as the owls burst in from the ceiling and fluttered down to their receivers. As he had hoped, one dignified and irritable brown owl was for Lupin.   
  
Rather conspicuously, Potter and Pettigrew grew very busy with their own imaginary parcels and porridge, the former of which hadn't arrived and the latter of which had already been devoured by the Gryffindor lions. Only Black, with his usual lack of tact, watched Lupin run his fingernail across the thin makeshift envelope and release a small note.   
  
"That's your uncle's owl, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes," Lupin said tonelessly. Pettigrew squirmed slightly and Potter couldn't help but sneak a glance, while Black's face darkened angrily.  
  
"What's he want? He's not sent you any birthday wishes, has he?"  
  
So it was Lupin's birthday? Severus hadn't known that. Funny, how you could go long without knowing other people's birthday. It only reinforced Severus's belief that the huge fuss made over birthdays was silly. Day-by-day, they were meaningless.   
  
"He's obviously not feeling well… or else the D'veen Method is in effect…"  
  
"The what?" asked Potter. Severus's question exactly. What did Unspeakable Admill D'veen have to do with it?  
  
"Never mind. It wasn't a card; I guess D'veen gave up - no, Talon, peck at anything you want, but leave the homework out of it…" Lupin fell into silence as his eyes scanned the impossibly diminutive, narrow handwriting.  
  
"So what's he want?" Black repeated, distastefully, as if Richaden Lupin was someone whose only rights in regard to Marauders was to make sure nephew Remus had somewhere to go during summer and to leave them completely alone the rest of the time. Gryffindors were so close-minded, Severus reflected.  
  
Lupin re-read it again before answering, and then shoved it in his pocket with a grimace. "Not information I particularly needed to hear. Sirius, stop flying off the handle, it's only just that he wanted to remind me that I have to leave Hogwarts for holidays for the Check-up."  
  
And thus the Severus Snape Policy of Information Gathering struck gold again, the founder of the theory thought with a satisfied, sardonic smile, mulling over what he had just heard. The way Lupin said "the Check-up" made it sound rather significant. He'd have to think over that in Arthimancy today. It made sense for Lupin to have regular medical examinations; Severus had never found an adequate reason for why Lupin was so sickly. Some sort of chronic illness made sense.   
  
Black responded sympathetically with something mildly profane; Lupin absently told him that he had to quit using that language before he let it slip at the wrong moment. Surprisingly, since Black tended to argue just because an argument was there and ready to be developed, he was quiet for moment, thoughtful. Severus was leaving when he caught his words:  
  
"Hey, Rem, come home with me over Christmas. Arabella would be thrilled to have you, and if you just tell as how, we'll take you to - the… Check-up."  
  
Lupin looked up stridently, trying to hide hopefulness. "Really?" He didn't wait for Black's nod. "But - what about -" Lupin seemed to be searching for a hitch " - isn't James coming with you?"  
  
Black laughed. "I could get 'Bella to have both of you, no problem, but our Jamsie is going to the big city of the States, remember?"  
  
"Oh, right." Lupin gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, James, forgot about that for just a moment."  
  
Potter nodded unconcernedly. "Needn't worry." Severus felt a twinge of jealousy. Bloody Potter. Globe-trotting everywhere. Last year, Italy, last summer, Japan, this year, America - bloody hell. All Potter wanted was to laze around Black's farm. Meanwhile, Severus, who would have appreciated it fully, wouldn't get that chance until his life was firmly in his own hands. That required not being a minor under wizarding law. Rather childishly, Severus mentally willed himself to grow faster.   
  
"Stop making excuses, Remus, what's holding you back? Listen, 'Bella'll talk to your uncle and reduce him to pieces with one of her speeches. We can take you there, right? And we'll have a grand time, come on, why do I have to convince you?" Black gave him a, in Severus's opinion, revoltingly charming and persuasive smile.  
  
Lupin returned it shyly. "I'm convinced, Sirius, I'm convinced, if it's not a bother -"  
  
"A bother? Why d'you think I offered?"  
  
For just a moment, Severus's mind considered what it would be like to stay at Arabella Figg's scruffy farm instead of the Mildred Longbottom's neighbourly Tudor before wondering what the hell he was thinking. Even the Longbottoms were better than two "Marauders" and one woman mad enough to think one of them was worth raising, and the others worth inviting over.  
  
  
  


_"I've built walls  
A fortress deep and mighty  
That none may penetrate  
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain  
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain...  
I have my books  
And my poetry to protect me,  
I am shielded in my armour,  
Hiding in my room; safe within my womb,  
I touch no one and no one touches me  
I am a rock;  
I am an island  
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries."  
-- "I Am A Rock", Simon and Garfunkel  
_

  
  
  
**TBC  
  
(A/N: Quick last author's question: Does anyone even recognise some of these songs? Do they seem to fit the chapters? Just wondering. Oldies, I adore.)**


	7. Happy Birthday, Remus

**Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.**

**My loves, my dears, whom I abuse heartlessly and who still show their infinite kindness and patience by reviewing: Aliera, Allemande, Antares, Beidy, enoimreH, Flamewing, Hana-chan, Iggie, Laurus Nobilis, Lavander Ice, and Leila ShadowMirror. Hint, hint: now that I have finished chapter nine, probably the hardest of them all so far, the pressure is off and my selfish half might actually give me permission to do some – gasp – reviewing. **

**The token song is a bit off, I suppose, but I absolutely couldn't find one that fit better, although it much fits what little say Severus has in this chapter than Remus, although with enough thought it works. Truly. Trust me. I've been doing it. (And feel grateful that I did not fall back on the cliché stand-by "Bad Moon Rising", which was a temptation.) **

**Aliera, as I don't seem to remember if I replied to your review, a Talisman of Death's purpose was indirectly said in Chapter Four: The Question is Abruptly Answered, but, more directly, it quite simply causes instantaneous death if thrown about someone's neck. Which, I must say, makes Professor Avis sound rather careless, but her safety precautions were extremely well-prepared, and it was due to Stella's nearly crazy genius (which soon will be more crazy than genius; despite who that girl turns to be, I can't help loving and sympathising with her) that the said precautious were thwarted. **

**Demeter, the next chapter (Seven) is the one after your own heart. It's extremely heartening for me to say that it's even within sight of posting. **

***slight sniffle* I don't deserve you guys. **

Chapter Six – Happy Birthday, Remus 

_Day: 4 Month: 12 Year: 1976_

            It was the first and likely last time a student ever crossed the threshold of the hospital wing while Poppy Pomfrey reigned over it and was not immediately pounced upon by the matron with an instant health-related inquiry.

            Had Remus not been so preoccupied, he would have been shocked. As it was, he barely registered it. 

            "Lupin." Madam Pomfrey stared at him a moment. "What did you do to your hair?"

            He had cut it, that's what, not wanting to stay over at Arabella Figg's while looking like… well, looking like a teenaged werewolf neglected by his guardian uncle. He and Kebby had once attempted it themselves over the summer, but Richaden found out, and the punishment that followed convinced Remus that there were more prudent ways of going about it. Richaden pretended not to notice that his nephew came back every summer with hair roughly the same length as it had been when he left. 

            Granted, he hadn't the most level eye in the world. "It's not that uneven," he defended, a little more testily than he intended. Luckily, he knew from experience that by two weeks it would have grown in enough to not be terribly noticeable.

            Madam Pomfrey examined it a moment longer before snapping back to her regular concerns. "What's the matter?" Her hand was on his forehead within a matter of seconds, before he could properly reply, and she almost looked disappointed he hadn't a fever.

            "Nothing much, really, I'm just tired and my stomach is upset." It wasn't a lie, it wasn't a lie, it wasn't a lie… "Could I just get a bit of a lie-in? I'll probably be fine for next class –" He had been forced into a bed before he finished speaking. 

            "Rest," Madam Pomfrey ordered firmly. "No need for any complications tonight." 

            Remus closed his eyes instantly with a small sigh but didn't sleep. He felt guilty as sin. Just for starters, he had no right to get irritated by Madam Pomfrey's fussing and over-boardness when he took advantage of it like this. And he had taken advantage of it – he had known very well that if he said he wasn't feeling quite right just hours before a full moon, Madam Pomfrey would be writing him a note out of class before you could say "Herbology". If he hated special attention, there was definitely a kink in the moral virtues of using it when it wasn't really needed.

            He almost considering backing out, telling Madam Pomfrey it was really nothing and hurrying to the greenhouses… but he'd be late, and he'd have interrupted Madam Pomfrey from her work unnecessarily, and it would be too awkward to explain – no, it was easier just to take his three-fourths of an hour and be on guard that it didn't become a habit. 

            And anyway, if not physically, he was definitely not in the best of emotional health. To be sure, he was a wreck. 

            Too dangerous, too dangerous, too dangerous… too bloody risky. _Why _had he ever agreed to such a ridiculous scheme? Oh, Sirius had assured all week it would be fine – he'd make sure Remus didn't attack James or Peter, Sirius would tire him out so he'd sleep off the night, no one would be any the worse and Remus much the better for not trying to destroy himself. Sirius was such a dreamer. He had said no one would get caught the time with Katya Peterson's dormitory, too…

            And he, Remus, had been stupid to believe him, to indulge in any such fantasies. He ought to have faced the hard truth – every month for the rest of his life there would be one long night where he would endure something he'd rather not, and after the ordeal there would be care and concern from friends and supporters, and there would be a normal, enjoyable life to lead, which was probably more than he deserved, seeing as how he was so bloody foolish, but he would have to deal with the nightmare. By himself. No way to lessen it. 

            Instead he had opted for wistful thinking, and it wasn't only him who would pay the price for his fantasies – it would be his three friends, tonight. He had tried to talk them out of it all week, and they had told him right back, in varying degrees of severity, to shut up and stop worrying. They didn't get it. They saw their good buddy and partner-in-crime Remus leave for an evening, pale and barely suppressing his trembling but otherwise fine, and they saw him the next morning, wounded and ill and battered and exhausted, and since they had never seen what was in between, they just weren't making the connection. 

            Conceivably, he could kill them. 

            And although this possibility was the worst, it was only the beginning. He thought of their family and friends, and at their loss. And there was kind, understanding Dumbledore, who had offered him trust no one else had – it would be a scandal that would never quiet down, Albus Dumbledore admitting a werewolf who then killed three students. The headmaster's well-deserved reputation of integrity would be destroyed and career blown to nothing. A nice way for Remus to repay him.

            And then there would be the several generations of students left who should have known and been helped by him, who would never know Dumbledore personally. Not to mention that if Remus failed, killed someone, he had ruined the chance for anyone else, werewolves or other questionable children, to attend a school – to have gotten the same things, friends and a social life and skills needed for a somewhat normal life, as he had received. And thrown away.

            He groaned involuntarily. He was such a cowardly bastard. If he had just accepted the reality instead of all the wishful thinking, then he wouldn't have dragged in all these other people. And he still could, if he could put his foot down and faced his friends. How, oh, how had he become a Gryffindor?

            "Are you all right?" 

            Remus shook himself out of his cheerful speculation blearily. "Hmm? Oh – yes, I'm fine." And to top it all, he lied naturally, without the barest hint of second thoughts. 

            "You didn't sound it."

            "No, really, I'm all right. I wasn't sleeping well, I guess. What time is it?" 

            It was twenty minutes into Charms. Apart from this being one of his favourite classes, Remus was angry with Madam Pomfrey for not waking it and insisted on leaving immediately. Madam Pomfrey, in turn, insisted on taking his temperature and having him drink some sort of potion and some water before he left, and "Since it's an early moonrise, come here directly after your last class, all right?"

            No, he was thinking more along the lines of just loitering around corridors until the moon rose, he thought with uncharitable sarcasm.

            *

            Severus, never being the type to put off until tomorrow what you could do today, dropped Liqumbaug's book off on his way to Transfiguration. It hadn't been much help, and he was grateful Liqumbaug didn't have the chance to question him about it. There was no time period for when you would die if you saw a Grim – "sometime shortly in the future", yes, they said that, but Severus didn't think it counted. 

            It was rather stupid. Everyone died at some point. Even the Dark Lord, despite Christoph's assurances that he was planning to live forever, would die at some point. To make life simpler, hopefully sooner rather than later… 

            There were just a bunch of imbeciles with too much time on their hands trying to get other people worked up and over-anxious. The dumb black beast near the Quidditch field a couple days ago didn't have an idea of when Severus was going to die better than anyone else did. Including, although he was loathe to admit it, Severus. 

            *

            The last class of the day was Potions, and for the first time in anyone's memory, Professor Ellicha kept them until the last moment. The stress of O.W.L.s was getting to everyone, teachers and students, and even the careless Ellicha. 

            Remus slipped off to the hospital wing with his heart pounding, always hoping no one would take too much of an interest. He only took the small chance of whispering to James that "it" was early tonight, and could he please tell Snape he couldn't practice tomorrow? James listened, nodded, and gave him an encouraging smile that Remus was grateful for but not very benefited by.

            To get to the Asher house in time (and especially give Madam Pomfrey enough time to run back all the way through the tunnel), they would have to leave before dinner. It was risky; students would see them and wonder, but it was far more dangerous to take the jeopardy of having him transform before he was safely isolated. 

            Madam Pomfrey was having none of the idea of letting him go without rest. She insisted on giving him a mild Sleeping Draught. Unfortunately, his nerves were so out of whack that while he was drowsy, he only slept lightly and fitfully; the Draught didn't have a lot of effect. It did, however, have him so bleary that he couldn't think very much, so his worries didn't get to speak up too loudly.

            He was in one of his restless mini-naps when he heard a familiar wheedling voice and a familiar stern, no-nonsense one, but was so in a haze that he couldn't place them. He did remember the full moon and glanced at the clock. The time suggested he prepare to leave soon.

            "No, Black, I don't want him to waken just yet!" Madam Pomfrey hissed, exasperated, her irritation coming clear from the curtains that hid him from prying and gossiping eyes of his peers. 

            "Too late," he murmured aloud, before realising that Sirius was here – well, he almost always was; Sirius was always trying to visit him to give him one last goodbye, and the first hallo. "Sirius?"

            "See? He's up!" Sirius said triumphantly.

            Remus was actually teary-voiced as he begged Madam Pomfrey to allow him to talk with Sirius for a few moments, and she gave in – "But make it quick, boys." 

            Sirius would start worrying at any reasonable opportunity and a few that weren't, and clearly saw how shaken Remus was. "What's wrong, Remus?"

            "Don't do it, Sirius, _please _don't do it," Remus pleaded. Nerves shot and mind still foggy from the Draught, he sounded rather pathetic and very close to crying.

            Sirius's mouth tightened, his eyes rolled, and he smiled patiently. "Remus, we told you, it's going to be fine."

            "No, Sirius, no, it's not –" Remus wished desperately they could talk freely, but Madam Pomfrey was within clear earshot. 

            "Listen, there's nothing to worry about. Don't you trust me yet? Come on, up you go. What'd Pomfrey give you – can you stand?"

            With Sirius's assistance, he soon could, but refused to drop the matter. "Please no, it's just not safe, Sirius, _please_."

            "Here're your robes, get ready now – Remus, _Remus_, stop shaking like that, have I ever let you down before?"

            No, Sirius never had. Somehow or another, he never did. 

            "Doesn't it always turn out all right – well, semi-all right?"

            Remus nodded tightly, figuring this was a bad time to bring up Katya Peterson's dormitory raid. "But – "

            "Okay, there's Madam Pomfrey coughing as loudly as possible to hint I should get out of here and let you two get ready, and since I value my life, I think I will – listen, Remus, nothing to worry about, all right?"

            The reply was a sleepy and exasperated snort. 

            "Right now." Sirius gave his friend a reassuring arm around his shoulders for a moment before Madam Pomfrey said: "Right _now_, Black," in agreement. 

            "Sirius…"

            "Happy birthday, Remus," Sirius called over his shoulder. "Belated presents later, remember? Keep looking forward to it." Remus got the point and borrowed bits of Sirius's vocabulary to express his feelings of the occasion.

            Remus told himself that if they were even alive after this night, he was going to kill Sirius. He pulled on his regular school robes and shoes, so as not to arouse suspicion, with a feeling of heavy dread, listened to check the wing was empty, and found Madam Pomfrey zippering her rough beige shoulder bag. She straightened when she saw him and slung it on. 

            "Are you ready, Remus?" she asked, with the gentleness in her voice Remus only heard this time of the month.

            He detested that question; one was never ready for this. But since of course he preferred going to the Shrieking Shack as compared to any possible alternative, he only nodded. 

            Madam Pomfrey continued to send him concerned glances as they walked to and through the entrance thing, doubtless having heard Remus's near-breakdown with Sirius, but Remus, feeling the sort of blankness that comes when you have no choice but to sit back and let fate run its course, neither cried, stumbled, hesitated, or collapsed, just kept up his stride and considered telling her all about the Animagi deal.

            But he couldn't. The possibility of the four of them being in serious trouble was a very real scenario to Remus's mind, while the possibilities he had spent weeks worrying about now, while terrible, were hard to grasp. This is a natural defence mechanism of the human mind, to not believe the worst will happen even while you consider it, and in some cases, it helps one a great deal.

            However, the night was young. There was no time yet to determine whether the instinct was right or wrong in this case. 

            *

            James Potter was making his way to the Slytherin table, stoically, face blank at the incredulous stares of three Houses and the hateful stares of other. 

            Severus grimaced. Potter couldn't be coming to talk to _him_, he just couldn't. The school would have a speculation session of the decade – Severus Snape working with one Gryffindor and having others have voluntary and public conversations with him over dinner. 

            Naturally, Potter walked straight to him. "Snape."

            "Present and accounted for."

            Potter raised an eyebrow but continued: "Remus wanted me to tell you that he won't be able to practice with you tomorrow."

            _Why not?_ Severus wondered instantly, but, as usual, didn't ask aloud. Instead, "How many relatives does he have left to die?"

            "Shut it, Snape, he's ill, that's all."

            "You'd think he'd be immune to most things by now. He had better not be pulling one of these for the actual Duels."

            "Well, he's going to try and time these sorts of things around that date, don't worry," Potter grinned sarcastically. It was annoying how Potter always tried to crack jokes around him, as if he was expecting Severus to burst out laughing one day and for them to unite in amusement, never to share enmity again. Of course, with Potter's ego, this Miracle Joke was going to come from _Potter_'s mouth. 

            "Can I eat in peace now?"

            Severus was pleased to see that Potter looked rather defeated as he headed back to the Gryffindor table.

            *

            "This looks too thin…" Madam Pomfrey murmured, pulling the tattered nightshirt Remus wore during the full moon out of her bag. "Aren't you going to be cold?"

            Remus knew she would ask that again and again if you told her the automatic lie of "No, I'll be fine", so by now he would tell her the truth: "For a little while, but I'm warm enough after the transformation."

            She sighed as she handed it to him, as if she had not heard this for the past four winters. There was nothing he could say to that. He was aware that the garment was so worn that he might as well have been naked, but it was the principal of the thing. Uncle Richaden always ordered him to undress before moonrise, but here, away from his insistence, Remus of course had to defy him, whether Uncle Richaden knew it or not – it was adolescence. Besides, it was also his last cling to saneness and humanity before the nightmare began and ripped every last shred of pride from him. 

            So he went to the next room to quickly change, and then folded his robes into Madam Pomfrey's bag, on top of his shoes and socks, and tried not to let the nurse see his shivering in the bitter December air. 

            She was fussing, as usual, reluctant to leave until she absolutely had to.

            "Some of this furniture is hazardous," she decreed disapprovingly, running her fingers along the corner of a table. "You might poke your eye out on this…" 

            _Oh, thanks, Madam Pomfrey, give me something new to worry about._ He didn't voice this thought, of course, and she didn't expect him to speak anyway. She did expect him to hold still while she checked his temperature again (for what reason, Remus did not know), to tell her if he felt anything was abnormal (not that there was anything to do about it at this time), and to go immediately to one of the rooms upstairs, the one with the canopied bed, and to get under the covers until the moon rose so he could stay warm (Remus obeyed for purposes of getting her out of there). 

            Finally, she left, with a few more orders and pats of his head, and after he had gone upstairs and was supposedly in bed. "She's so fussy," Remus said aloud to no one in particular, probably to hide the fact that secretly he almost liked the fussiness. The treatment here and at Lupin Manor was a sharp contrast – but he oughtn't be so silly.

            Now that Madam Pomfrey was gone, the worries about tonight returned full force. He climbed back downstairs – once he had charged down the stairs as a werewolf so ruthlessly that he had tripped, hit his head, and received bruises that lasted for weeks. Likewise, he did not seek the comfort of sitting or curling up on the floor for warmth. 

            He preferred to stand. It came back to the pride thing, but it also went slightly deeper than that – he wanted to face the ordeal standing, as if meeting the invisible force or spirit that was the bloodthirsty wolf that would inhabit him on his own two feet, and his own terms, at least as many terms as he had. 

            Of course, he knew there were many – he had _met_ many – who would tell him the force or spirit was not from outside, but from _inside_, hidden inside him under the cover of a normal-_looking_ person. He pushed those reminders from his mind. The whole standing-to-meet-the-transformation was a mind game, and he knew it, but he'd take anything, _anything_ to help.

            _Including_, his nasally voiced little conscience spoke up, _other's lives._

            "I know, I know, and I have enough guilt without you," Remus snapped to his conscience, rubbing at the goose bumps on his arm and speaking through chattering teeth. "So shut up."

            *

            Slytherins were known for ambition. If cheating helped, then there was nothing wrong with that, for the ends justified the means. And sometimes, the means justified the ends whenever a belated conscience awoke and tried to scold. 

            But in this matter, they were concerns with the means of getting Cletus to pass his O.W.L.s. 

            "It won't be hard to get a hold of Ellicha's," Evan offered lazily, from behind the brand-new copy of _Witch Weekly_. As it was the December issue, it was sparkly, thicker than normal, and jam-packed with advertisements. Ellie Willinstock was posing for most of them. She was a second cousin of Alexandra Donnellson, the one Gryffindor most of them wouldn't mind going out with, and was the most popular model of the time.

            "I don't need Ellicha's; Sev has been helping me," Cletus whined. "I need Transfiguration and Defence."

            "You picked the two teachers to try steal off of, haven't you?" Severus snapped impatiently, knowing very well whom the burden of tricking Liqumbaug and McGonagall would fall to.

            "Blame them," Cletus grimaced.

            *

            Luckily the Asher house had been reinforced with protective charms, because the werewolf was doing every thing possible to send them down. This resulted in the fact that he was now in possession of a shoulder that was halfway detached from the socket. Considering that he was scampering around on a fourth of the weight of that shoulder, it was more than a little uncomfortable. 

            That's why Remus was half snarling and half whimpering when keen senses suddenly picked up something quite unusual. Just the simple fact that there was something else alive in there… the werewolf wasn't used to company. But he didn't wait too long to ponder. There was blood. Finally. Finally…

            The small part of his brain that was still vaguely Remus, although it had no control, moaned and screamed and tried to struggle. It was James and Sirius and Peter. It had to be –

            He scurried down to meet them, for two different reasons, but the stronger one was not in the mood for friendly entertainment of guests. He clawed at the door as it was nudged open from the other side. Sensing blood quite within reach, he turned sharply and pounced –

            Something clamped hard around his neck, restraining him with cushioned but strong paws. Remus struggled and flailed and snapped to get at the blood, but to little avail. 

            His opponent seemed wary of actually fighting him; the werewolf, sensing this, tried furiously to capatilise on this advantage. But the other canine would quickly dart ahead of him, blocking his path, fending him off –

            Annoyed jaws came down on the black dog, which tried to back away sharply, with the air of someone who only now is beginning to feel panic. Then he seemed to remember he had others to protect, and that he had promised to deal with it. Decidedly, he stayed under the werewolf's wrath, amidst heavily snarling and a rat's squeaks of terror at his friends' circumstances. 

            It seemed to last a frighteningly long time for everyone involved except the werewolf, to whom it was only seconds. In reality, it was only about two minutes, but they were probably endless to the terrified dog, who was submitting to being scratched and having fur skinned off by werewolf teeth. Finally, he could take no more and let out a long, low whine. 

            Something about the noise caught the werewolf's ear, and it awakened a sense of identity. Abruptly, Remus stopped tearing madly at Sirius but instead stared at him a moment as if he couldn't place him. Peter squeaked hopefully.

            With a small whine of his own, of regret, Remus started to lick and clean the wounds he had given his friend.

            *

            The world's unfairness could be shown the list of subscribers to the _Daily Prophet_. There was Christoph Wilkes, who could care less about it, but whose parents sent it to him anyway, even though they could barely afford it. And then there was Severus Snape, _not _on the list, who would have devoured each issue with a sharp eye. 

            So therefore Christoph would never noticed if Severus borrowed his.

            Severus found he couldn't sleep, which wasn't unusual. Sometimes trying to sleep was a losing battle, and Severus never fought that sort. Reading material was invented purely for nights like these. 

            And then he was bothered, because of every article in the paper, there was only one that made little sense to him on the chessboard of wizarding politics in war. 

            **_Body Found In Salazar's Cave Is Identified_**

****_This bizarre story has had the Ministry of Magic on its toes for the past forty-eight hours. It appeared at first to be a simple murder of a woman in her late twenties. The mystery girl was found bloody, unconscious, and severely dead the morning of 1 December by two children playing outside in the snow._

_            Medi-wizards who first arrived on the scene proclaimed it as a death brought about by intention, as evident by the blunt impacts upon her skull. The question of who she was, and why she was dead, was immediately looked into. When no one claimed her after twenty-four hours, more experts were brought in. _

_            The question of the death seemed more in reach when Klaus Chandler of the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, confirmed she was in fact a werewolf. It seemed likely, Boris Slid of the same department said, that she had either been killed or had committed suicide. _

_            Chandler spoke up before the case lost its urgency. "Miss Gina Vendutti was always quite rational minded. I find it unlikely she would kill herself, especially as she seemed in good spirits during her last appointment with me. Furthermore, someone took a great deal of time to kill her the hard way. She was not murdered instantly. The marks were made within hours of each other."_

_            What anyone would possibly want to torture Vendutti for was uncertain. Residents of Salazar's Cave and surrounding villages were questioned, and no one recalled seeing Vendutti. Vendutti has never attacked any human after fourteen years of lycanthropy, and Chandler's examination proved nor had she since her last check-in with the Werewolf Registry. _

_            The one lead the M.O.M. does have is exclusively known only to the _Daily Prophet_. A Law Enforcement Officer who wishes to remain anonymous pulled over your reporter in the middle of the melee that Vendutti (WR02387) had been carrying one parcel. Wrapped inside plain parchment was a miniature ring circlet of red and a note. The nature of the note was not revealed; however, the package was addressed, quite simply, to one called "Jobey".  _

            Severus frowned thoughtfully as he re-read this. He wished he had been able to read all the facts before they were shifted through the _Daily Prophet filter. It was indeed a little odd. Even a werewolf probably wouldn't take their life for something trivial, and why one would take so long killing Vendutti – whether they knew her as a dangerous werewolf or a harmless twenty-some witch – was a mystery. And things that were "a little odd" often spelt something that had seven letters and began with a "T". _

            *

            The plan had been to tire Remus out. But like most plans, it wasn't working very well. 

            The werewolf had been soothed of its all-consuming hunger and rage, but it was still restless and upset aplenty. He showed deep remorse after his attack on Sirius; he had whined and helped Sirius every way possible and hung his head, but the sorrow was being shaken off. The werewolf had a lot of energy.

            Quite luckily, that was a Marauder sort of trait, and the night was spent rowdily, with chases and tags and general overturning of everything they could find. And the amazing part was, Remus didn't _need_ to be knocked out. Somehow, he was aware of his friends, and thus aware of himself. It allowed him to have much greater control over his actions. 

            Yet freedom came not only from the loss of the wolf's control, but from the fact the wolf's influence _did_ remain. Remus had never felt this… this _reckless_ in a long time. 

            All sorts of worries evaporated. The wolf wasn't interested, and even had he been, couldn't process them. With the cautious side of Remus canceled out, only rough exhilaration was left. And they were making the most of it. 

            A similar effect had taken over the other three boys, leaving only innocence. War was far off tonight. Right now, there was play and adrenaline, and everyone was enjoying it. 

            In fact, when Remus began to feel the familiar burning pain that signaled that his time as a wolf was shortly to end, he felt… _disappointed_? Good grief –

            There was no time to reflect on it; the change had begun. Remus couldn't help but cry out as, slowly, every bone in his body began to break and then warp itself into a new shape before re-molding; a hundred nerves and vessels began to sprawl and twist themselves in new directions, pinching in the process. His body was on fire as fur started to recede, leaving raw and extremely sensitive skin. 

            But the noise of pain lasted very shortly, because soon he could not scream. As several organs changed shape and started to rearrange, his breathing was interrupted. By the time it was _finally _over, even though it had lasted perhaps ten seconds, he gasped desperately for air.

            He had a good excuse to keep his eyes closed. The muscles around them had also twisted around a great deal and it strung awfully. But sooner or later, he was going to have to open them and face the others.

            Having dignity seized from him was little new: he hadn't that right to claim since the day he'd been bitten, and there was a great deal of that mysterious concept in the transformation, for it was the emblem of wizarding and human shame, not only disgusting and degrading, which was nearly unbearable in its portions alone, but so pain-ridden that he was reduced to very little beyond that experience of hurt, hurting everywhere, and only wild cries he couldn't stem. But then, he had always been alone, and the only one to see any part of it: that much of pride was protected, and no one had seen him as werewolf. It hadn't occurred to him before hand that this would end with his friends' experiment, and even had it done so he wouldn't have guessed how much it would wound the all-important dignity. Everyone has some spark of it, and it hurts worse when it's punctured so deeply as Remus's was now than a year's worth of transformations of the sort he'd just undergone. 

            James, Peter, and Sirius had been completely silent ever since the transformation ended. If they had done anything during the change, Remus hadn't heard them. Sirius broke the deafening silence, as was his habit.

            He bounded over to Remus, immediately trying to do whatever he could to fix his shoulder, which was still disfigured from his battle with the wall the night before. Mind still spinning, Remus could only make out bits and pieces of his words.

            "…hell… terrible… it's a bloody good thing we're here know, you know that? …That could be fatal…"

            "Sirius," he mumbled weakly, although it came out more like _Swewuf_, "it's fine, really…"

            "_Fine_?!" Sirius roared. Remus winced, the pain in his head increasing threefold. 

            "Sirius, don't shout," Peter ordered timidly. "It's… It's hurting Rem."

            That effectively kept Sirius quiet. "Oh. I'm sorry, Remus," he whispered. "… Remus? Are you all right?"

            He was going to have to look them in the eye at some point. Reluctantly, he squinted. Sirius's face, leaning over him, slowly came into focus, expression full of sympathy – and pity.

            After eight years of lycanthropy and its effects in every part of his life, Remus was used to losing a lot of his pride. Still, up until now, the transformation had been very private, in addition to personal and rather embarrassing, but luckily something only he had glimpsed. It had been difficult enough to relinquish that privacy, and now the look on Sirius's face made it ten times the worse. 

            Remus immediately closed his eyes again.

            "Hey, I'm not that ugly, am I?" Sirius asked, pretending to be hurt.

            "Yeah, Sirius. He can't stand to look at you," Peter nodded.

            "_Hey_!" 

            "Well, Snuffles, you _did _sort of set yourself up for it," James pointed out. Remus laughed faintly. 

            "See? We made him laugh," James said happily. "You'll be all right, right, Remus?"

            "You three helped a lot." Remus couldn't find the strength to elaborate further. "I'm fine." Then he sternly told himself that he was a Gryffindor and ought to act like one. He opened his eyes again. 

            James and Peter weren't as hard to look at. Their faces, too, held disbelief and horror, but not pity. Peter was wide-eyed, James more thoughtful than he was known to be. 

            "How can we help?" Peter asked quietly. 

            "Get out of here before Madam Pomfrey comes," Remus replied. "…_Please_," he added, as he saw skepticism on their faces. "I swear I've lived through worse. She'll fix it."

            He suddenly recalled the terror of the night before. There had been no misfortune. They had pulled it off, and safely. He would have been stunned if he hadn't been so exhausted, but instead there was only a sigh of relief, and a great weight vanished. 

            "Positive – nothing?" Sirius sounded pleading. He hated to not be able to do anything. 

            To appease him, as well as to get them out of there, Remus told them about the bedroom upstairs and asked if they could bring a blanket down for him – it was chilly. Instead they chose to carry him upstairs.

            "Honestly," Remus said impatiently, words bleeding together, hanging limply as they heaved him to the higher floor. "This is so humiliating. You _will_ live to regret this."

            "Yeah, we love you too, Rem," James replied, little concerned.

            *

            "Don't know about it." Christoph shoved the paper back at Severus. "What's the big deal?"

            "It's funny."

            "Bloody hilarious," Stella agreed.

            "Who asked you?" Severus snapped at her before turning back to Christoph. "It's _peculiar_."

            "Quit using the big words," Christoph replied lazily. "Honestly, Sev, I couldn't care less about some murdered werewolf. If you're asking if we did it, no, why would we? It'd be more useful to capture her and – "

            "Christoph, Y.G.T.M.I.," Evan cut in sharply. "Y.G.T.M.I." was Evan's shorthand for "You're giving too much information." He said so many times that it was easier to create simpler version of it.

            Christoph silenced while Severus finished his breakfast thoughtfully.

            *

            As much as Remus wanted to, it was difficult to manage to walk the long distance from the Shrieking Shack to the hospital wing after a full moon. Every limb felt like noodles that had been boiled too long and every step was uneven. Madam Pomfrey got him to the curtained bed with him leaning against her, as well as with the assistance of several charms. 

            "Lay down, dear," she said gently. Remus collapsed into the bed obediently. 

            She forced several liquids to his lips before turning to his injuries. It was uncharacteristic of her, but she knew by now what to expect, and to realise that Remus would survive if they waited a few more minutes.

            "You don't seem terribly hurt… compared to the usual," she remarked, healing several cuts, having mended and bandaged his shoulder at the Asher house. 

            Remus didn't want to arouse any suspicion, but was half-asleep when he replied: "It must be those birthday presents. Sirius actually laid off the dirty cards this year."  

**TBC**

_"He's singing about standing in the shadows of love,_

_I guess he feels awfully alone_

_She said 'I know exactly what he means' – yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah_

_And it's a sad, sad feeling when you're living off those in-betweens_

_But it's okay…_

_It's a lonely ol' night, but ain't they all?_

_-- "Lonely Ol' Night", John Mellencamp___


	8. The Impassable Test

**A/N: I am such, such a bad girl. I've decided, my dear readers, to quit promising faster updates and more reviewing of reviewers. It jinxes.   
  
If you feel the need to re-read (or skim, if you're pressed for time) the past few chapters, I encourage it. I have to learn to write quicker if I plan to be so intricate.   
  
Thanks bunches to: Aliera, Allemande**(the way I figure with the werewolf-blood thing, human blood is optimal, but in a pinch... FBAWTFT seems to back me on this)**, Becky Sharp, Demeter **(yes, this is your chapter!)**, enoimreH **(it's been so long that I've forgotten how to spell that)**, Flamewing **(how goes the MtMNovel that none of us finished? Yours still going?)**, JKLB, Laurus Nobilis **(dead on the mark, you are)**, Lavander Ice **(your email address isn't letting me through, dear)**, riverlady **(ha! I bet Remus doesn't find it "so cute"; BTW, both Seekers? Where's that from? In the movie, sure, James was a Seeker, but JKR says he's a Chaser, and nowhere do we really know for certain he was on the team)**, Saerelle **(hey, part of your name has a whole chapter to itself soon)**, and Semmel** (nope, slow, but I'm not giving up just yet, not till I'm fat and can actually sing on key)**.  
  
Chapter Seven - The Impassable Test**  
  
_Day: 11 Month: 12 Year: 1976  
_  
If there was one thing Severus disliked about the holidays, it was the jokes that came from every direction, aimed for him. Whether to hurt him or just for the shooters' enjoyment he didn't know, but it did aggravate him.  
  
"Hullo, Scrooge."   
  
Who was _Scrooge_? Severus had no clue, and it bothered him. Furthermore, he was upset that he was even bothered by this. In fact, he was frightened. Frightened because in the all too fragile web of Death Eater politics, he was going to be facing things a lot worse than confusion. If he let little things like this get to him, what was he going to do when he was being tested, tortured, manipulated?   
  
And he was angry with himself for being frightened. Slytherins generally agreed fright was a good thing, as well as a natural thing; that's how you learned. This defied Severus's law. Goodness knew he was no noble Gryffindor and he didn't care to be, but terror was, all in all, not an admirable emotion.  
  
But he still wished he knew who Scrooge was. Somehow, he suspected it had originated with Potter or Black.   
  
*  
  
"Lupin, the first thing I'm warning you is that if you wish me a merry Christmas, I'm going to hex you so badly you'll wish you had never been born, and if I hear the word 'Scrooge', I'll do it double."  
  
Severus instantly regretted it. Not because he had lashed out at Lupin, of course; he could care less about that. It was because he was angry and had lost his temper. He was not in control. He took a deep breath or so, trying to calm down. It was not easy, since Lupin was doing a lousy job of hiding an amused smile.  
  
"Good evening, then."  
  
The worst part about that remark was that Severus found it somewhat funny.  
  
"By the way, that was a really awful threat. 'You'll wish you'd never been born'? How clichéd. I thought you were above that," Lupin continued, in an even sort of voice. Severus knew him well enough by now to know that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Needling Snape" was probably Lupin's favourite hobby. Only Lupin's method of needling was a lot more subtle than most.   
  
Still, Severus sometimes suspected that he stayed awake to think up cutting things to say in the middle of the night. If only because if Lupin didn't do that, then Severus _had _really met his match in wit.  
  
"So, anyway, if we're going to get down to _business_," Severus hinted pointedly.  
  
"Honestly, relax a little," Lupin suggested lazily. "Last time I checked, the sun is going to rise tomorrow same as always, there are no meteorites falling toward our heads, and I need to polish my wand anyway."  
  
Severus rolled his eyes.  
  
"Well, _sorry_, but Peter spilled his pumpkin juice all over the table at dinner."  
  
"It should have been in your pocket and then we wouldn't've had this problem."  
  
"You're right."   
  
Since Severus couldn't argue with that statement, he went back to the original tack. He had a great memory during conversations, which make him tend to jump all around, and could never understand why others couldn't keep up with his thought process.   
  
"We can't stay here very long, y'know."   
  
Lupin had already finished cleaning his wand. You had to give him credit; Severus could just imagine that James Potter would have taken about half an hour on that task. "Good grief," Lupin said, gazing around the dark corridor, "so the Slytherin passageways have reservations? For _this_?"  
  
"You keep your mouth closed about our corridors, Lupin," Severus ordered automatically.   
  
"If you say so."   
  
"We don't have much time."  
  
For some reason, the two were still following the tradition of not having a real duel, even if it was only a practice one. One might wonder why they bothered, since they had smashed all other customs to bits. Perhaps it was that they were clinging to the one ritual they had yet to destroy. So it was very much like the offence-defence drills they often did with Liqumbaug in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The sort Cletus Avery was still refusing to do ever since his bout with Lupin.  
  
But since they weren't actually battling each other, it eased the transition from the instinct to be rivals to the need to cooperate and work as a team. And it was certainly the only reason they shared hexes and countercurses that the other did not know, although, Severus thought as he corrected Lupin's pronunciation of a particularly useful spell that would make the opponent see double, it definitely felt strange.   
  
"Like this," he said impatiently. "You're on defence, okay?"   
  
Cletus - or, in fact, just about anyone else - would have started sulking on account of Severus's harshness. Lupin appeared not even to realise he was being bossed around by his enemy. "Right."  
  
Severus said the incantation easily and sent an invisible Double-Vision Spell. It was the first time he had ever used it on a person, and it was also the first time Lupin had ever felt it.  
  
As one might have guessed, it wasn't a grand combination.  
  
*  
  
Remus could have never explained to anyone why the next moment he was on the floor. He almost refused to even say it to himself. The moment he began to see every thing in sight become two, he remembered hearing the talk of a pair of mourners at his parents' funeral.  
  
_"Audim couldn't get to his wand to get the ward set up, you know…"  
  
"… it's such a shame; I had offered to train him to combat those sorts of hexes, we were going to start next month…"  
  
"… it certainly wasn't his fault Melly was left to face them alone, really, what can you do when every thing you see is doubled?"  
_  
So this was the curse - the simple, childish curse he was learning now - that killed his parents.  
  
Remus winced, and it wasn't from his twisted ankle.  
  
*  
  
Severus's charm had been a tad too strong, and Lupin later explained that he hadn't expected _all _of his sight to be doubled - somehow, he had only been focused on the thought that it would make it more difficult to see whoever used it on him. Surprised at the suddenly jumpy corridor, he reflexively ducked, swerved on his ankle, and abruptly hit the floor.  
  
"What is it?" Severus asked.   
  
"Very effective," was the dry, but rather shaky, response.   
  
Concern got the better of Severus, and so he went over to help his partner to his feet. "All right?"  
  
"Fine." Lupin laughed, a bit too brightly. "Thought that was to make my vision into two, not my foot."  
  
"Honestly, you're hurt, can't you just moan and groan like everyone else? Must you really be so bloody _happy _about it?"  
  
"Okay, I'll be miserable if you want."   
  
"_Thank _you." Severus helped him hobble over to a bay hubby in the shadows of the corridor. "Think you can stand?"  
  
"Maybe in a moment or so, if you can spare sixty seconds."  
  
Severus spared them in complete silence, but then regretted it. Their lack of noise apparently caused the Slytherin fourth- and third-years to think they had at last left. Before they had been talking, but so far off that Severus, with his keen hearing, only barely heard them, but after about sixty seconds they began to break into song.   
  
They had obviously been having a rally-like morale booster. It was a phase nearly all Slytherins went through at that age, when the full reality of how the way everyone outside of their House viewed them was going to affect their whole lives kicked in. If someone had been slighted badly for being a Slytherin, they went to their classmates for comfort, and found it.   
  
Today, it had been Keith Bewilliger who had been tripped during dinner by some older Ravenclaws. The lot of them had been recovering by discussing the evils of the other Houses and what they would do to them if they could, when they got older.   
  
"Slytherin, Slytherin, you evil child," the chant began, before picking up steam into a full blown raucous song. "Slytherin, Slytherin - "  
  
"In you darkness runs wild!" Bill Sallby yelled spiritedly.  
  
"Grow up to be a murderer and kill innocent babies," Cynthia Chapel led.  
  
"You ought to rot in Azkaban, no ifs, buts, or maybes!" Mark Travers replied.  
  
"Lead a life of wickedness hidin' behind a mask and respectable name - "  
  
"Avada Kedarva or Galleons keep you on top of your sinful game!" Keith, Bill, and Brutus Zambini concluded.  
  
"Slytherin, Slytherin, you evil child; Slytherin, Slytherin, in you darkness runs wild! We'll be liars, killers, and sinners to our graves; no Archangel Gabriel can our souls save!"  
  
"Soeth sayeth the righteous ones who fear and dread the snakes," Maria Wilkes sneered in a deep chanting tone.   
  
"And so who are we to disappoint?" Bill shouted.  
  
"I'll always be a Slytherin, a Slytherin to my grave!" the others called back in unison, with rounds of cheers.  
  
For a moment, Severus could not move, much less look Lupin in the eye. He was used to this defiant song and others; he had helped develop some of his own back when he was that insecure as to need them. But for someone else to hear it? An outsider, no matter how, well, _sensible _they might be, still an outsider? A _Gryffindor_? To have heard that?   
  
Then Severus realised that he was ashamed - and of course he had no reason to be ashamed, none at all. None! It was Lupin's kind that ought to be ashamed - ashamed to have single-handedly caused so many to go the way of darkness because of prejudice. Noble, gold-hearted, _hypocritical _Gryffindors!   
  
He stood abruptly and gave Lupin his most unnerving stare (and, it must be said here and now, Severus could be remarkably unnerving). "What're you thinking, Lupin? Oh, how wicked, how _bad_, eh? - for children to be singing such songs of evil? Yes, Slytherins _are _simply evil, right, what else could you expect of a snake? Well, you listen here, Lupin, what you heard does _not _leave this walls, or else I'll call the _really _evil Slyths to come and kill you on the spot so you can't tell. _Those _kids aren't murderers or bad people; they're children who have been told all their lives that they're wicked beyond all hope, who have been left confused and outside their circle of peers, who _will _grow up wicked beyond hope because of _you_, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and - oh, gasp! - _Gryffindors_, the do-no-wrong, hear-our-righteous-roar _Gryffindors _never allowed them one chance to _be _good people. Don't you _dare _go around with your nose in the air _here_, _Gryff_indor."  
  
Lupin finally glanced up. "You're awfully loud. I think they heard you."  
  
Severus quieted, and realised that there was not a sound in the direction of the third- and fourth-years. Furious at his rather foolish position and his loss of temper - why, oh, why couldn't he ever control his temper? - he prepared to take it out on his nearest target.   
  
"So? I'm not working with _you _because I want to be some insufferable Gryffindor; it's only because Liqumbaug suggested it, and _he _only said that because he wants Hogwarts to win at the Gathering - don't you _think _of taking me for any 'evil-to-goodness conversation case'."  
  
"Calm down, Snape, I wasn't about to," Lupin snapped. "In fact, I'm agreeing with you, now that you brought it up that way."  
  
This silence was the loudest so far.  
  
"What?" Severus asked, catching himself a little too late.   
  
"Oh, what, you don't think Gryffindors can't admit we're wrong? Well, here you go. I think I understand what you mean about them." Lupin jerked his head to where the young Slytherins had been. "Only now _you_'re making generalised accusations as well…" He trailed off before continuing. "You've certainly given me a lot to think about. It seems like all Houses have to do a lot of re-thinking."  
  
Severus glared at him again, but this time not as cuttingly. "They never would - not most of them, anyway."   
  
"Maybe not right away," Lupin agreed reluctantly. "But hopefully someday. Hopefully sooner rather than later. We need to understand each other now more than ever."  
  
"Oh, spare me the idealist philosophy." Severus had been pacing and continued for a few more seconds before shooting another challenge in Lupin's direction: "I suppose you're waxing quite sentimental, Lupin - 'oh, those poor little Slytherins. Poor things. They are in need of help so much.' Ready to start a Snake Assistance Program?"  
  
"I think everyone needs someone who understands if they don't want to go mad or homicidal," Lupin replied calmly, without missing a hitch, "but I don't think any group of children singing proudly about being the murdering Slytherins is any worse than the problems many other children have - well, yes, it is, but I mean in terms of who needs help. I think it's a natural instinct to make light of anything that frightens them."  
  
Severus stopped and looked at him curiously, tacitly asking him to elaborate.  
  
"Everyone will joke about something they're afraid of, especially if there's nothing else they can do about it," Lupin shrugged.  
  
Evan and Christoph suddenly appeared in Severus's mind's-eye, preparing to meet their soon-to-be master in only a few hours, to receive the Dark Mark, making what Severus had then thought to be lame wisecracks about the whole affair.  
  
Had they been afraid?  
  
Yes, of course they had been. Anyone in his or her right mind was terrified to meet the Dark Lord.   
  
Reluctantly, Severus nodded in agreement. "In that case, your friends Potter and Black must be the two most nervous and frightened people on the earth."  
  
Lupin gave him a light warning glare, eyes flashing dangerously.   
  
No, actually, Severus thought further. In fact, that was James Potter's main problem. He needed to be really worried and scared, really _bothered_, for just once - at least just once - in his life. He might become closer to being tolerable then.   
  
*  
  
Remus thought for a while about what he had said to Snape. "Everyone will joke about something they're afraid of, especially if there's nothing else they can do about it."   
  
He had been so deep in thoughts about what Snape had said about Slytherins, and so immersed in re-evaluating all his beliefs about black-and-white Houses, that it was a while before he remembered his statement, but when it did come to him later, it echoed in his head for a while.  
  
His words seemed to be accurate; he could pull up hundreds of examples to back up that statement. It was possible to find a time someone had laughed about something they feared for just about every person he had ever met… except himself.   
  
Never could he remember laughing about anything connected to family problems - not when Athena was getting mixed up with that group of bandits, not when his parents were constantly bickering, not when Athena married Dick Wallington, not when his parents died - or his lycanthropy - the hatred, fear, or revulsion of others, the various treatments, the Registry, the transformations.   
  
Forgetting his lecture to Severus Snape on generalisations, many of his Uncle Richaden's rantings came to mind - he was _not _a person, and he did _not _have actual human feelings. Remus squelched his eyes shut tightly for a moment, like a small child, with a shiver. The feeling of isolation that he was often able to ignore seemed to widen.   
  
How was either Richaden or Remus Lupin to know how this one moment was to affect Remus's choices very shortly in a way history textbooks would record?  
  
**[A/N: Dear readers, you probably know this, but the above paragraph and one sentence before it are a little thing known as extremely blunt and obvious foreshadowing. Digest it well. Ahem.]  
  
** _*  
  
Day: 17 Month: 12 Year: 1976_  
  
Here was one prime problem to being a Slytherin posing as a truehearted Death Eater. Severus stared down at the book longingly. _The Long Battle_, a bar-none account of the war thus far, written by Alastor Moody. Moody was an Auror who had fast developed a reputation during the war. (Depending on your point of view, it was a spectacular or eye-rolling one.)   
  
Even though he was an Auror, Severus had a healthy respect for Moody, a grizzled old man who had not fallen into the common trap of many of the self-proclaimed "Light Side" - he was neither a politically maneuvering bastard nor a sparkling-eyed idealist. Severus knew that Moody would tell it like it was, no matter whom it offended or degraded - his side or the Dark Lord's - and that it would have all sorts of kneving details on his part and the part of Death Eaters', and that all in all it would be a fantastic read.   
  
The book was in Maude's Library in Hogsmeade, which was really a bookstore but quite a cheap one. Severus could easily afford the couple of Sickles it would cost. He could not, however, afford what the Death Eaters would say if he were seen with it.   
  
Severus stood stock-still and stared down longingly at it for quite some time, thumbing through it.   
  
"Not you, too!" Maude Linne herself snapped, stepping behind Severus and snatching _The Long Battle _from under his fingers. "These books are not gold and it's not a whole lot to spend. Either buy them or get out - this isn't a café and I can't afford to have you reading them in here without paying a Knut!"  
  
_Don't make such a big scene out of it_, Severus ordered her mentally. "I'm extremely sorry, Ma'am," he said icily, before letting the book slip to the floor with a thump. Maude gave him a glare that rivaled Severus's own before turning.   
  
Unluckily, Remus Lupin was just inside the threshold and took the burnt of her anger. "And you! Don't you dare think you're coming in here just to continue _The Trio_. The sign that reads 'library' is not literal - either pay or go!"   
  
Lupin raised an eyebrow and glanced at Severus, who pretended not to see him. "Actually, Ma'am, I was going to purchase some books for Christmas presents... if you don't mind."  
  
"Humph." Maude, who was in an unusually bad mood, stormed off. Severus left the shop into the bitter sharp cold air that was windswept down Hogsmeade's Main Street. Hogsmeade was a small village near the school, where students third-years and older occasionally got to visit on Saturdays. A trip a week or two before Christmas holiday was customary so the children could do their present shopping.   
  
Severus was buying nothing in terms of "presents". He had sent some money to Frank, Adela, and Allison, who often pooled to buy the younger children presents. Otherwise, he did no gift giving. _Not _because he was particularly bitter, but because it wasn't expected of him. And frankly, he didn't care.  
  
Most of the other fifth-years in his House were off pumping up their Big Tough Slytherin image by shoplifting and being coolly rude whenever any adult questioned them. Severus figured if it made them feel better, he hoped they would have fun, and besides, he never minded being alone. When he saw Dickon Bright trying to strike up a conversation with him in hopes of wandering around together, he disappeared over to Maude's Library, where he had been an hour. Now evicted from his favourite shop, he hoped Dickon, who was alone somewhere in Hogsmeade, wouldn't catch up with him.  
  
He walked around aimlessly a while, just waiting for the moment that they could get back to Hogwarts. The village held few pleasures for him, except to explore the back residential streets. For some reason, he liked staring at houses and imagining who lived in them, a childish habit he was unable to break.   
  
Kicking at the snow, he turned down an even smaller street. It was deserted until the very end, where there was one lone house on his left side, small, brick, and surrounded by tall, dark trees. For a moment, Severus began his mental picture of who lived there, until he realised… he rather liked it himself.   
  
Keeping as quiet as possible, he walked closer, curious to see more of it. He forgot to move silently on the crisp snow, and for his carelessness, his plans were abruptly halted -  
  
From his right, someone shouted a spell. Severus saw it coming and ducked, fumbling for his own wand. But while in his vulnerable position, someone else tackled him from behind. His ambusher still upon him, Severus gritted his teeth: crouched on the snow with head bowed to the ground was an awkward enough position, especially with someone putting their weight onto you, and he had landed on his chin and throat, thus pulling a muscle in his neck.   
  
Adding insult to injury, someone else had seen where he had reached for his wand and now, knowing where he kept it, the someone deftly reached into the correct pocket and pulled it out. Severus, keeping a cool head and trying not to panic, leaned to the left - and then suddenly reared, throwing all his weight from his left shoulder into the person pinning him to the ground.   
  
The tackler was far stronger than he was; Severus's attempt to throw him off simply caused a dim chuckle and for him to press Severus to the ground tighter.   
  
"Goyle, when I give you the signal, release him and pull him to his knees. Crabbe, make sure the instant Goyle is up, your hands are on his arms. You let him get away and you will have many people to answer to."  
  
The signal was given and the goons obeyed. Severus vaguely remembered Crabbe and Goyle - they were huge, hulking Slytherin sixth-years when he was in his first, and had made his hazing a misery, especially as he had been tall, but rather wiry, and had not started his training for Quidditch and combat, as up until then books were pretty much his life. Now it appeared they were back for an encore.   
  
Merlin - just a year or so back, you never walked Hogsmeade alone for fear of attack from students of rival Houses. Now Severus had to worry about his fellow Slytherins into the bargain.   
  
Now Crabbe's fingernails were driving into his arms and nearly piercing the flesh. Severus was calm about it. He had felt worse injuries while training. Goyle grabbed a lock of his hair and jerked his head up to face two more people: Lucius Malfoy and Andirons Nott.   
  
"He doesn't look like much. What's your name?" Nott spat.   
  
Severus kept silent. Either a truth or a lie, in this case, might be fatal.   
  
"I've asked you a question - that's an order!" Nott cried, folding his arms over his chest. That attempt at bellowing from the tiny person nearly made Severus smirk, and didn't inspire much fear. "What's your name?"   
  
A refusal to answer opened up Nott's hole for more verbal abuse. "Well, he came in with the Slytherins, but sure doesn't look like one. Look at that greasy hair. When d'you suppose he last washed it?" He gave Severus a kick in the shins. "Your name. Now!"   
  
"If you do not reply," Malfoy said softly, "it will hurt. I assure you."   
  
It did hurt. Goyle administered a swift beating. Severus tried to keep his head and chin up defiantly the entire time.   
  
"Look here," Nott said impatiently, "Malfoy here knows Crutiacus, and that's no lie. If you don't reply with your name now, he'll have you on the ground screaming it, after we put up Silencing Charms about us. And that's just one of many questions we're going to ask."  
  
Severus considered this. It made sense to say his name now, but then, the last thing he wanted was for them to think they had power over him. "It's not safe to give out information like that. You never know whom is for whom."   
  
"Well label me 'shocked' and owl me to Antarctica!" Nott exclaimed. "He talks! I was beginning to think he was a dumb mute. He does seem to be a bit soft in the head, don't you think?"   
  
_I'm more intelligent than you could ever hope to be, Nott_, Severus snarled mentally. _As for the Antarctica deal, I'd be more than happy to. _  
  
"We're for the most powerful wizard ever to exist," Malfoy said quietly. "He is our master."  
  
"How do I know you're not lying?" Severus countered.   
  
"Would we use Crutiacus Curses if we were for the Ministry?" To illustrate, he murmured something and pointed his wand at Severus.  
  
The curse was lifted in a split second, so swiftly Severus barely registered it, but even for that short a time, Severus knew it was not a little cut or bruise to shrug off. That curse was probably the most powerful and painful thing he would ever feel. Had Crabbe and Goyle not held him, he would have been knocked backward.  
  
He gasped for breath as discreetly as possible. "No, I doubt you would."  
  
"What is your name?" Malfoy asked again in a drawling monotone.   
  
"Severus Snape. I am a fifth year Slytherin."   
  
"Snape, why, I've heard of you." Malfoy's cool fingers lifted his chin up for a moment. "The little genius scholar. A bit of a force with potions. And your curses and dueling are reportedly above average."   
  
Severus secretly thought his ability made him more than "a bit of a force" and "above average", but Malfoy's support slipped away abruptly and his chin fell to his chest. Every muscle was still stinging from the curse.   
  
"What do you say about that, Snape?" Nott asked.   
  
"I have certain talents." He was never one to be overly-modest, but it might be required for this delicate situation.  
  
"You could be a valuable asset to just about anyone," Malfoy said, apparently casual.   
  
"Your classmates say you plan to serve our lord," Nott said.   
  
Knowing that Nott expected him to respond, Severus said nothing. The snow was seeping into his legs and making them numb from cold.   
  
"Yet we must admit concern," Malfoy continued. "You have never come to any sort of meeting, or shown active interest in supporting us."   
  
"As you said, I have an aptitude that is a bit… above average. My teachers watch me very carefully."  
  
"And so you want to avoid suspicion?" Nott said. It was half a question and half a mock.   
  
"It would not do to incur it," Severus said neutrally. There was a short pause.   
  
"So you want to serve us," Nott summarised with a nasty sneer. "Tell us this, Snape - do you honestly and truthfully place your entire life and self into service to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, our master, the greatest wizard of the world?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Look up at us and say it!"   
  
Meeting their eyes and saying it truthfully might be more difficult. Both Nott, Malfoy, and Severus knew this. . He looked up into Nott's eyes. They were fanatical and crazed… Andirons Nott had taken this oath seriously and honestly. Nott had thrown his whole being into the Dark Lord's charisma and power. "Yes."  
  
Severus chanced a look at Malfoy before they shoved his head downward to face the ground again. Malfoy's eyes were cool, calculating, and intelligent, Severus reflected. Very much like himself, Malfoy was playing the game. He had no blind adoration for his current "master". Everyone knew Malfoy hated Muggles and liked power. The Dark Lord was the perfect match for him, but if Malfoy ever found another who was even more perfect, he would use it to his advantage. Malfoy was in it for himself. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy were a lot alike. Actually, it was vaguely encouraging. Malfoy was second-in-command, to Severus's deductions. If someone as unorthodoxly a Death Eater as Malfoy could rise to that height - alive - well, then. Again, they were that similar.   
  
In more so than just intent, too. Malfoy was no doubt intelligent. In fact, Severus felt he might have met someone with just as much smarts as himself. This had happened rarely before. His undoubted assurance in adults' invincibility had long since been shattered. Dumbledore… yes. Perhaps. The old wizard was eccentric and softhearted, but not stupid. He was cleverer than Severus, and in turn, Severus resented that.  
  
His father… quite possibly. He was ruthless and had good intuition. Did that make someone intelligent? Liqumbaug certainly kept his domain in good order, and little missed him. He was no fool. Who else? A mental image of Lupin's kind but shrewd eyes flashed into Severus's mind. What had quiet Lupin experienced to give him the same edge as himself? Whatever it was, he had to reluctantly add that name to the list.   
  
And now Malfoy. It was a small handful of people who matched Severus's mind, and only one who exceeded it, but they never failed to make him feel unnerved. What did Malfoy want so badly that he had devoted a life to politics and power? Merlin, that must make for a tiring life.   
  
Goyle shoved his neck down so he was staring at the slush again. Blood from some of the harder blows had dribbled onto the ground.   
  
"You know, Snape, like yourself, we have no way of knowing if you're lying. And your actions have yet to convince us," Nott said with barely concealed anticipation.   
  
"Have they convinced you anything otherwise?" Severus asked reasonably.   
  
Nott ignored the question. "Perhaps we ought to see if you continue to say the same without having to think it over. Crabbe?"   
  
Crabbe delivered a punch straight into Severus's temple. Without having time to suppress the reflex, he gasped. It had been too sudden. He was going to have to be more careful, more focused. Malfoy was repeating the question of loyalty. Severus answered yes. Goyle took his hand and shoved his fingernail under the skin of Severus's. The question was repeated before Severus had time to ungrit his teeth. The answer was repeated as well.   
  
Harsher, more numerous kicks and blows. The same question, the same answer. The beatings were done again, the four young men taking a warped pleasure off of his pain. Malfoy tried to trip him up now by re-wording the question in the exact same tone as before: "Do you refuse to serve our lord?"  
  
"No. Never." That didn't sound quite right. "I would never think of doing so."   
  
The routine went on a few more cycles, and then Malfoy and Nott set up strong Silencing Charms in a circle. Only they could hear each other, and the street was devoid of people. Then Malfoy applied the Crutiacus Curse and kept it on him longer.  
  
Severus willed himself not to yell. He would never lower his pride like that, or give them that satisfaction. But as one second turned into three, it was no use. Involuntarily, his teeth unclenched, and he cried out against his will. The curse was removed.   
  
"Do you serve our lord?"  
  
It was impossible to please them. If he replied "yes", they weren't convinced and the torture went on. If he replied "no" - well, then he had just signed his own death warrant. He hadn't even written a will, he reflected inconsequentially, and then almost laughed at the thought.  
  
"Yes." He could barely force out the one syllable.   
  
Goyle wore sharp metal rings. Severus was introduced to them several times, still saying "yes". And "yes". And "yes". It was practically shorthand for one of Frank's favourite one-lines: "Thank you, Sir, may I please have another?" But just when he began to wonder if they intended to kill him, Malfoy lazily ordered them to stop. Severus willed himself not to sigh in relief.   
  
"That'll do for today. Snape has some chances to think about where his loyalties lie… and has learned what a true follower faces. They do not hide in dungeons away from the world. Snape, it's still difficult to believe you."  
  
"I hope, Lucius, that one day I shall prove to you that I am trustworthy. Until then I take your… interrogations… without complaint, all for dedication to my master, and yours," Severus murmured. Not a bad speech, he reflected, although he hadn't been able to help the sarcasm placed on "interrogations".   
  
"I, too, hope the same, Snape. You could be very useful. Until then, we must watch you warily. As you yourself said - if you are truly loyal, this should mean nothing to you but a chance to prove your dedication."   
  
Severus heard the distrust in Malfoy's voice. He knew very well that Severus was doing the same as him - lying. But Nott seemed convinced. It was hard to tell what the lugs thought. If they even did. Their body mass seemed to have taken away from their brains. But Severus knew that everyone's attitude was that the spotlight was on _them_, honey darlin', and if you thought someone didn't have emotions, you were walking into the jaws of the lion and digging your own grave and a bunch of other cheerful metaphors. It would bite you in the end. Most likely before the end.   
  
"Release him," Malfoy told Crabbe and Goyle. They dropped him unceremonially. As Severus had been using their support to stay upright, the sudden loss of them made him fall on all fours, face in the snow. He swallowed what little was left of his daily allowance of pride and stayed that way. Showing weakness would make them underestimate him - and it was always handy to have to fool people who underestimated you. There was laughter from above him - softly amused on Malfoy's part, cruelly gleeful on the others - and they walked off.   
  
They were gone. Oh, thank Merlin, they were gone. He had thought he was prepared, and had been too close to wrong for comfort.   
  
_It'll be easier now. I know what I'm up against. I won't have to waste thought on what they're going to do, only how to handle it._ Why, then, if he had gotten so much experience, did he feel oddly like crying? Not from pain, just from the damned hopelessness and stupidity and loneliness of it all! _I won't make the same mistakes. Once bitten, twice shy, after all. It's just a… a chess game. Clichéd analogy, but there you are.   
_  
And everyone knew that Severus Snape was a master at chess.   
  
He pushed himself up, thankful for all the combat training he had put in. He was damp and bloody, a most conspicuous combination for the rest of the school. Now was the time a person wished they had watched Madam Pomfrey more carefully whenever they had to go to the hospital wing. Still on his knees, he groped for the wand Nott had dropped and used some cleaning and drying charms.   
  
His robes would hide most small cuts and injuries, or he could act if they weren't there and no one would know. But fingering his face, he found more blood and bruises than anywhere else. Wearily, he cleaned them and wondered how to explain them away. Remus Lupin occasionally came to school with similar marks. What did he always say? There were the infamous quips: "I got into a fight with a rosebush and lost" and "Don't you recognise the signs of having used Floo powder?", but often it was simply "Let's just say that you should never offend an owl and leave it at that, shall we?"   
  
It was a transparent lie, but the Slytherins would appreciate hearing him taunt Lupin's tired old excuse and the assurance that Severus was still plotting how to get him for his horrendous crimes against Cletus, and, most importantly, they'd be too distracted, starting to make half-baked jokes of their own, that they wouldn't think any more of it. No more questions, not even any more need for lies.   
  
Satisfied with this plan, Severus stood and bit his lip. His leg had fallen asleep. A few more tentative steps later, he nearly laughed out loud.   
  
After all the efforts of Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Malfoy, the thing that make his walk most uneven and awkward was not their wounds but a sharp tingling that most people found funny. Severus felt a lot better. 


	9. Their Softer Sides

**A/N: When thou art confused near the end, dear reader, rest assured, all shall be explained next chapter.   
  
When thou art bored, dear reader, rest assured, I am rapidly posting other stories on this account, and most wind up featuring guess-who and him-too. (See 'Meeting With a Cousin' in particular.)  
  
When thou art in the habit of reviewing, dear reader, rest assured I am grateful - thanks to Aliera (**I'm still working on the little mistakes bit**), auroraziazan, Demeter (**rest assured, the Prank isn't coming up for ages - I don't necessarily need Sirius Black to make their lives miserable, no siree!**), Laurus Nobilis (**yep - life insists on being difficult and contrary for Severus**), Moonrose, and Saerelle (**see if you can spot the first five letters of your name - it gets its own chapter next time 'round**). And who was it who made the guess about the book? You were absolutely right! Take a chocoball!   
  
And when thou art snickering at the title, dear reader, rest assured, thou can't possibly protest as much as the boys did.   
  
Chapter Eight - Their Softer Sides**  
  
_Day: 20 Month: 12 Year: 1976  
_  
Severus tried to hate her. He honestly, really did.   
  
Unfortunately, the only thing he could dislike her for was the fact that he liked her. He could have loved her if he tried. And it was difficult not to.  
  
It was Frank, one of the five Longbottom children, who picked him up at the station, with a cheerful Christmasy greeting that Severus dismissed with his usual cool dose of water on over-enthusiasm. In fact, even for Frankie he was being unusually genial, but Severus, unable to reason it out, let it slide for the time being. He preferred to waste as little thoughts on Frankie Longbottom as possible, because no matter how friendly Frank was nowadays, Severus never forgot the argument he and Mrs Longbottom had a few days after he had first been sent to Rowena's Valley, where Frank had shouted that he didn't want to have to share the entire house with "some stuck-up slimy git who thinks he's better than us".   
  
"Why did you want me to leave Hogwarts for the holiday?" was all Severus inquired shortly.   
  
Frank looked a bit put out at this ecstatic hello. "We wanted to see how you and Allie were doing. Is that so bad?"  
  
"Why not take her and leave me?"  
  
"Speaking of which, where is Allison?" Frank ignored the question, so Severus did his.   
  
Allison stepped off the train with her group of Ravenclaw friends shortly later. The two were in the same year, but did their best to avoid each other. The one thing they agreed on was that it was rotten luck that they looked so much alike, with long black hair, dark eyes, swallow complexion, thin figure, rather large noses, and ears that laid flatly against their head. Their personality even had its outward similarities. Half of the school truly believed they were related, to both Severus's and Allison's disgust.  
  
"I don't care anymore that his parents pretend he doesn't exist and that he can't get along with him. I hate not having enough money to live on without keeping him around," Allison had complained to Adela one day. "I'll happily quit school and get a job if we can get rid of him."  
  
Severus had not even pretended to not have heard. "Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose?" Allison had glared, continued writing, and ignored him.  
  
Obviously, Severus thought, watching Allison and Katya Peterson hugging and wishing each other good holiday, he wasn't hampering her social life _that _greatly. Then she ran over to Frank and knocked the breath out of him. In turn, Frank lifted her into the air.  
  
_Now who's the one wishing we weren't connected?_ Severus wondered with a roll of his eyes. Luckily, in the roar of the station, no one was paying them any mind. Of course, Severus was not the only one without family to race to. Some number of students had lost family during the war thus far; it was only Severus, however, that appeared unconcerned.  
  
"How're we getting home?" Allison asked, giving her brother a kiss.   
  
Frank looked affronted. "Thoust have no trust in me, diminutive female sibling?"  
  
"Just answer the question," Severus snapped.   
  
Both shot him small glares, Allison's face tight, and Frankie visibly biting his tongue. Severus knew they'd all like to beat him up one day, but Sylvester Snape was finicky and not someone to trifle with. And the Longbottoms, a respectable family but far from a wealthy one, needed the money from Severus's board too much. "We're going to use the Underground," Frank said at last, and then blatantly turned to Allison. "My partner, Ansley, he's Muggle-born, told me how to get about it. It'll be something else, I promise, Allie."   
  
Severus's mind blanked. He couldn't be seen going on the Underground, a Muggle-made transportation system. Not by the Slytherins who were keeping tabs on him, with almost all there at the station - and with _their _parents, Death Eaters!   
  
Frank, damn him, sensed it, glanced over his shoulder at Severus, and said coolly: "You're coming along, Sev, don't even try to fight it. It's too crowded for any of your _Slytherins _to see you tainted by Muggle things."  
  
Thought he was so bloody clever, didn't he? He didn't have the faintest concept of it. Severus followed sulkily, trying very clearly to convey that he had done everything short of kick, flail, and scream to get out of this. Hopefully even Christoph Wilkes could see that.   
  
"You never answered my question on why I had to come along," Severus said abruptly, as they had filed into a sort of huge, hollow javelin that was now speeding along. Allison was gaping around, but Severus was calm. This thing was reliable enough that Muggles still used it. They had brains, after all, just no magic.   
  
He was not asking it as a question, and it came through his voice quite clearly. No, he was stating a fact. And while Frank shrugged, Allison rose to the bait. Unlike Severus, she was hard-pressed to keep her mouth shut.  
  
"'Cause Frankie has a girlfriend coming over for Christmas. Mama thinks its only proper that she be introduced to the whole family."  
  
"I'm not part of the whole family." Severus did not whine the words or lash them out. It was simply a stated fact.   
  
"No, you're not," Allison agreed, a bit too forcefully.  
  
Silence was the only reasonable retort, although Severus's mind was filled with curses. Having to put up with the Longbottoms over holiday because of _Frankie Longbottom's girlfriend?_ For the love of Merlin!  
  
*  
  
_Day: 22 Month: 12 Year: 1976  
_  
She waved a hand. "Please, my least favourite aunt calls me Alice Jill. Just use A.J.; it's far easier on breath." Put it down, she held it out to Severus. "Nice to meet you."   
  
The Longbottoms, who were all, for once, of a similar mind that Alice Jill Boyd was a very nice girl and just perfect for Frankie, tensed as Severus stared at her appraisingly. After all, who knew what that Snape boy would do? You could never count on him to make things go smoothly, and A.J. was a first cousin of the Wronski family on her mother's side. Wasn't it likely she would be easily offended?   
  
Finally, Severus shook her hand. "Severus Snape," he said, voice lacking in any emotion whatsoever. "I suppose it was a chilly trip."   
  
Adela and Allison exchanged incredulous looks while Mrs Longbottom sighed with relief.   
  
"Oh, no. Frankie made sure I was warm - er!" A.J. blushed. "I meant, well, the cloak…"   
  
Luckily in the Longbottoms' perspective, she didn't see Severus roll his eyes. Mrs Longbottom raised an eyebrow at A.J.'s choice of words but let it slide for now. She absolutely adored her son Frankie, and was anxious for him to be happy. It was time he was happily married, after all, especially in these troubled times; at the age of twenty-four, Frank had yet to start taking any witches seriously. While thank goodness the boy was responsible and levelheaded, it was a bit worrisome.   
  
*  
  
_Day: 24 Month: 12 Year: 1976  
_  
A.J. was no Katya Peterson, particularly not in looks. She was far from stunning. For one, she was rather on the plump side, not fat, but certainly not slender. Plain mouse-brown hair fell awkwardly a little past her shoulders, streaked with ginger here and there. Severus had to wonder what it would look like if someone ruthlessly took some scissors to it and got rid of a few inches. Her eyes were a large, bright blue, nose a small button shape, and her left was a fawn's ear.   
  
But she was intelligent. _That _interested Severus far more. And, to his barely-concealed pleasure, she loved potions, and admired his ability. It was flattering, and occasionally even Severus could fall into that trap. Often she would brush past him in the Tudor's corridors and pounce with questions.   
  
"Sev gave me a potion for my headache, thank you, Mildred," she said in response to a polite inquiry at dinner. "Usually nothing cures my migraines, but that worked quite well. It was amazing, honestly. He's quite talented."   
  
To Severus's utter dismay, heat was rising in his face. He leaned over his plate, not meeting anyone's eye as the Longbottoms' glances. What was wrong with him?   
  
"He's good enough with his potions, I suppose," Mrs Longbottom said doubtfully. "Matthew, do not reach for things at the table."  
  
Matt, second-to-youngest-Longbottom, pouted slightly and pulled his hand back. At nine, he had probably heard that words about six thousand times, but had a difficult time remembering.  
  
The attempt to change the conversation didn't work. A.J. continued steadily on: "He could be very sought after one day. Did your Potions teacher ever bring that up, Sev? Who is it - is Professor Ellicha still there?"  
  
"Yes, she is," Frank said, rather brusquely. "A.J., do you want any of the turkey?"  
  
"Yes, please. I remember Ellicha well. What does she say, Sev?"   
  
Frank glanced imploringly at Severus, despairing. Severus ignored him. "She says I'm good and I make her job easier, and then pairs me up with everyone who needs help. She's no real teacher."   
  
"I liked her," Frank commented.   
  
_Yeah, I'm sure you did, Longbottom. Probably because she never challenged you.   
_  
"Oh, she was nice enough," A.J. said neutrally. "Although it was rather annoying when I wanted references for the Ministry. She ought to push a bit farther. Liqumbaug ended up getting me all the recommendations. You should talk to him about it, Sev - you're in his House, after all, and you're already as good as most of the brewers at the Ministry."   
  
Severus highly doubted he would be able to work at the Ministry after school, unless a miracle occurred. Even then, he doubted even more highly that he would want to get caught up in the political three-ring circus. But, showing an unusual display of tact, he didn't say so. "Maybe I will. He's rather busy right now though. With the Duels and Gathering."  
  
"Oh, that's right! Mr Lupin - Richaden Lupin, I did mention him, didn't I?"  
  
"You're his secretary," Matt offered.   
  
"In apprenticeship. If he approves after next year, you can automatically get a two-year position with the Ministry's brewers instead of starting from the first year," Frank said. "I remember."   
  
Allison had a smirk directed toward her brother.  
  
"That's right. I'm sorry, forgot if I told you that or not. In any case, Mr Lupin did mention they were going on. Ministry's having a monstrous time with political hogwash and foreign relations. Sev, Allie, you're in fifth year, right?" Nods. Neither of the fifth-years at the table were ones for chatting. "Who're you with?"   
  
"I'm partnered with Emily Kertcher, Hufflepuff," Allison said. "Nice enough girl, pretty good at dueling. We don't think we'll do too well, but we'll get a passing grade and neither of us pretend to know what to talk about."  
  
"Do you like it?" Thom asked in his shrill seven-year-old voice.   
  
"It's okay, I guess. And useful. Sev's the one that's good at it."  
  
Severus knew very well that Allison had grudgingly tacked that on, not to compliment him in the least, but to turn the conversation away from her. Which was precisely what he would have done. They were eerily alike sometimes, really.   
  
"At combat, too? All of it?" A.J. asked.  
  
"I can do all of it well enough," Severus said, deliberately taking a bite of potatoes to end the talk of it.   
  
"He's going on to the Gathering. It's practically a given," Allison said, clearly enjoying the process of embarrassing Severus further and further. He wished they would quit; for one, he was _trying _to go through the dates of Grindelwald's reign in his mind, as he was interested in writing an account of it, and for another, he had a feeling that he'd have to dodge all sorts of annoying questions if they found he who his partner was.   
  
"Really?" Adela said with polite curiosity. Everyone was trying to pretend that they were all happy and comfortable with Severus around during A.J.'s stay, not wanting to illustrate the fact that he was a large part of the reason they were not hopelessly in debt. "Who're you partnered with? I remember having a partner who was very good at it… but I wasn't quite as good and pretty much destroyed her chances."  
  
Damn her.   
  
"No need to worry about that," Allison said, with a casualness she had not taken this fact with at Hogwarts. Severus remembered her stunned face when she had first heard this tidbit of news. "He's partnered with Remus Lupin. Remus's just as good."  
  
Everyone looked rather surprised: A.J. possibly because she worked for his uncle, and the Longbottoms because they knew this was not a Slytherin name.   
  
"Who's that?" Adela asked, with the same feigned nonchalance.   
  
"You know, Remus Lupin. He's in our year, of course. He was the Gryffindor, remember, Adela?"   
  
To their credit, the Longbottoms tried to look unruffled. They honestly, really did. But it was no use. Severus could see the relief - nearly pride - on their faces. And then he scowled. Honestly. It was downright insulting, that's what.   
  
"Er… since when do you know him, Severus?" Mrs Longbottom asked.  
  
His reply was short: "I don't."   
  
"He was such a quiet kid," Frank said, not able to hide all of the surprise he felt. "Nice, too. Somewhat shy. A little mischievous. But nice."  
  
_Which, of course, it a roundabout way of saying I'm certainly not_, Severus reflected with a hint of amusement.   
  
"I think it's wonderful," Mrs Longbottom spoke up. "You don't often see a Slytherin and a Gryffindor partnered. Now, Alice Jill, what branch of brewing are you planning to get into, exactly?…"   
  
*  
  
_Day: 26 Month: 12 Year: 1976_  
  
"We got a sled for Thom and an owl for Matt, you know, since he's going to Hogwarts next year," Adela whispered to Severus abruptly that morning. "And then a couple of sweets and a Gobstone set they can share. That's okay with you, right?"   
  
Severus didn't bother pointing out his say-so meant nothing now, as the boys were already tearing into their presents. In fact, he refused to speak at all.   
  
Out of the older of the crowd, that is, Severus, Allison, Adela, Frank, A.J., and Mrs Longbottom, only the latter two and Allison were receiving any real presents. Allison was still occasionally indulged with new robes, quills, hair-things, and Frank had gotten her a Muggle notebook for her writing. Adela and Frank exchanged small tokens. Mrs Longbottom got the standard presents-for-Mama - awkward and unusable. And A.J., of course, had gotten a scarf from Adela and Allison and a paperweight from Mrs Longbottom as courtesy. Frank, naturally, had given her something quite else altogether.  
  
_Quite _something else, as a matter of fact. Mrs Longbottom raised her eyebrows at the extravagance, and Severus privately suspected some of the surplus of the funds he had given for the boys' presents had gone to that. It was not opened in front of Matt and Thom, of course, for they had never received anything quite so magnificent even from their affable eldest brother; they were left in the living room over their own gifts when A.J. opened it at the table.   
  
It was a complete and perfect jewelry set. _How trite_, Severus thought scornfully, but as A.J.'s eyes widened like blue pools of water, he realised he was jealous that her fierce hug of thankfulness was for Frank and not for him.   
  
Severus was always bluntly honest with everyone, including himself, as soon as he had worked through his feelings to find what he had to be bluntly honest with. And now he knew he had begun to like A.J. Boyd in a way beyond friendly fondness and confronted it. Had to deal with it head-on.   
  
And his breath caught as Adela helped her put in one of the silver-and-diamond clips to pull back her thick hair.   
  
Oh.   
  
So that's what she looked like when her hair was pulled past her shoulders. Not quite as awkward at all.   
  
"Sev!" Allison called impatiently, as if she had been for quite a while. Severus was sent back to reality - a reality in which A.J. and Frank were as good as engaged - with an unpleasant jerk.   
  
"What?" he asked irritably.   
  
"Well, I can see the Christmas spirit is in you, too, Scrooge," she snapped, handing him a package. "An owl for you."   
  
Scrooge again. He was never to escape it. Ignoring the impulse to chew her out a moment, he gave in to strong curiosity. It was a very simple disposable box and addressed only to his name. Severus's spirits soared. Mother. Perhaps this was Mother! No one else would have sent him anything… Father always gave him his presents when they met alone and together… damn it, he thought, blood pounding, why do I have to be here in with every Longbottom around to watch? This was _personal_!  
  
Reluctantly, he opened it anyway. He'd show Adela and Allison that his mother _did _care of his existence.   
  
Out into his hands fell _The Long Battle_, the book he had been reading in short sips and snatches in Maude's Library for months. He stared, logic telling him he was to be disappointed. How could Mother have known he had wanted this?   
  
Of course, his heart said, practically sticking a tongue out at the cool brain, Mother's an Auror.   
  
Not that Aurors like Moody's book, his head shot back.  
  
Shut up, both of you, Snape ordered, and heart and mind fell silent. Hands took over, mechanically. A note was inside the cover.   
  
_Severus -  
  
I suppose I can only hope you haven't gotten this already. If so, the receipt is inside, even though Maude will probably akin it to a library card and throw a fit. Happy Christmas.  
  
Remus Lupin_  
  
*  
  
_Day: 31 Month: 12 Year: 1976_  
  
Sirius had been insistent on wanting to stay up all night on New Year's. Remus didn't much mind doing it either way, but Sirius's enthusiasm could be contagious. And he had it planned out to every detail. They had gone for Remus's Check-up earlier that day "so it was out of the way", and now they were going to bed early. Sure, this was unheard-of where Sirius Black was concerned, but he was having no one falling asleep in the middle of things tomorrow night, and he'd need his rest to stay up as well.  
  
From the look Arabella had given Sirius, Remus concluded Sirius had never been in danger of not being able to survive New Year's without rest.   
  
Although Sirius also lamented that school would start in a few days and begged to sleep out in the barn. Arabella, who, as Sirius's godmother and long-time guardian, had put up with a bunch of crazy ideas, tried to draw the line here.  
  
"Sirius - _it's below freezing point_."  
  
"Well, yeah." Sirius had smiled. "It is the dead of winter, isn't it? Stands to reason."  
  
They had arranged a compromise that involved the attic instead of the barn ("why you boys would ever want to stay in those wretched sort of places instead of a warm regular bed…") plenty of blankets, six or so layers of clothes, and every single heating charm everyone could remember or find. Unbeknownst to Arabella, Sirius changed into his dog form, and although he had then happily siphoned off many of the blankets to Remus, the other boy envied the Animagus.   
  
The dog was sound asleep, sprawled over Remus's feet, despite a roll of Remus's eyes at this action. Sirius had merely been amused, as his dog-grin showed clearly. But Remus could not do the same. Too many thoughts were chasing themselves around in his head. Just as bad, the scars of the saere on his face were beginning to hurt again. When his mind had been on other things - and Sirius certainly was distracting - it had been only a dull sting.   
  
That, of course, was the point, a reminder that lingered long after the Check-up. There's been your warning, werewolf, the likes of Lloyd Panter would have said. His words were involuntarily repeated over in Remus's mind: _You're not a person, and definitely not in the position to make those decisions. You're a dog, and for your disobedience, you will be treated like one - _  
  
_Stop it._ Remus cut into the recollection as sharply as possible. Even under Dr Chandler's fair reign over the Werewolf Support Unit, they were still little more than a way to restrict werewolves in disguise of doctor's examinations, and they always had a disconcerting effect on him.   
  
He clenched his teeth as a new wave of pain washed over him. Sirius would work himself into a frenzy if he knew how much it hurt, and had nearly raised a scene just seeing those marks when Remus emerged from the Check-up. Best that he never suspect a thing.   
  
And then that odd note to "Jobey" and the entire McPherson's Solution mess. Remus was simply too tired to re-hash the details yet again. Hopefully it would work itself over, like most of the fiascos the Solutioners created.   
  
It was also the anniversary of his parents' funeral, which made things little easier. He still missed them so hard that it hurt nearly as much as the saere.   
  
In short, Remus had a nasty meeting with insomnia that night.   
  
Finally he could stand it no longer. In addition to being cold and restless, he was also getting hungry. Little by little he squirmed out from under Sirius, which was some feat, as he was a light sleeper. He opened the door as slowly and softly as possible - Sirius stirred but did not awaken - and slipped downstairs.   
  
To his surprise and no little discomfort, Arabella was at the dining room table, sewing away at some of the bedsheets that, Remus realised guiltily, he and Sirius had ripped while in the midst of a rather raucous pillow fight.   
  
She looked up, alarm in her features. "Are you all right, Remus?"  
  
"I'm fine," Remus said uncomfortably. "Just couldn't sleep well."  
  
Her eyes were still shrewd. "Get a glass of water." Arabella Figg had cure-alls for every situation, and this was her favorite panacea. Remus did so, and Arabella immediately invited (although with her it was a bit of an order) back into the dining room. As the soft cackling of the fireplace was easing his nerves, Remus would have been happy to do so if he did not feel at odds.   
  
"Anything you need?" she asked abruptly, pulling the needle in and out with a dizzying speed.   
  
"Oh, no. I'm fine, honestly." He conveniently took another sip of water.   
  
Arabella sniffed. "I told Sirius it was too chilly up there. Catch your deaths of cold, you will." This was her form of affection for her godson and distant nephew.   
  
There was another long silence. Remus again took in the details of the old farmhouse. Something about it had a calming effect of homeliness. There was a similar air around Hogwarts, but it was too bustling at times. Blackwell Farm was comfortable. An image of the immaculate and very cold marble of Lupin Manor flashed through his mind. He didn't miss it at all.   
  
"This hasn't anything to do with your Check-up today - or, shall I say, _yesterday _- does it?" Arabella continued. Her questions were blunt; her voice was oddly gentle.   
  
Remus hesitated, weighing the factors of hidden inquiries. "Not really."   
  
"Neither Sirius nor I think any the worse of you for any of that."  
  
There wasn't really a way to respond to this. "Thank you."   
  
"None of that," Arabella said. "Goodness knows it's only right, and it's a pity some wouldn't see it. You're Sirius's friend and've done much for him, and somehow I'm rather fond of you myself."   
  
Arabella sure knew how to put someone at a loss. Remus attempted lightheartedness and nodded at the cloth. "In spite of the occasional pillow fight."  
  
"Maybe because of it. It gets lonely without Sirius here, and James old enough for his parents to take him all over the world. I used to have both of them here all the time. It was tough when Sirius went to school. Too quiet. I missed him dreadfully for a while… although I did enjoy hearing myself think. You're welcome over here at any time."  
  
"Er, thanks," Remus said again.   
  
Turning a sheet to the other side of the hem, Arabella half-grinned. "So what are you thinking of that brought you down here?"  
  
"I didn't know you were up."   
  
"Still."  
  
"Nothing much. Just restless."   
  
"Well, anytime you need me, I'll be ready for you." Arabella managed to speak around two pins in her mouth. "The grand phase of teenagerdom is a rough time, and you've got a couple of extra burdens."   
  
Remus just wished she could stop referring to them, although he felt grateful for the understanding he rarely received.   
  
"Particularly with your parents gone," she continued, unheeding of his silent request. "Were you thinking of them?"  
  
It was difficult to withhold it from her when she had so openly talked of her own feelings. "Yes."   
  
"I only met them once. Melinda and Audim were nice."  
  
"They were wonderful."   
  
"A few words at a time I reckon I'm getting you to talk."  
  
Unfortunately, this had the effect of making Remus immediately try to clam up again. "Talking doesn't bring them back."  
  
"No," Arabella agreed. A stick in the fireplace collapsed with a pat against smoldering ashes. "It keeps you from ever forgetting them."  
  
Remus could not contest that statement and fell silent for a moment. Arabella placidly kept on mending.   
  
"I'm almost glad I got bitten," he said, cutting into the expectant pause. "Before that I barely knew them. They were so busy, and Athena was always fighting with them. I would just run off and stay out of everyone's way. At the funeral I realised that afterwards we began to show real feeling again. I grew more dependant on them, and they worried more about me. We grew closer. We couldn't ignore each other anymore." _I learned what the words "I love you" mean_, Remus thought, but it was not something he would say aloud. There were some lines not to be crossed. Not over any male fifteen-year-old's dead body, as there was a fine difference between openness and mushiness. Bad enough he had even thought it.   
  
"That's how it's supposed to be." Arabella spoke with a knowledgeable tone. After a while, she looked up again. "Are you tired now?"   
  
Without sensing it, he had become so. "Yes."  
  
"G'night, Remus." She stood at the same time Remus did to take his glass. Remus handed it to her and suddenly embraced her quickly. "Thank you," he whispered, and, embarrassed at his sudden display of emotion, hurried upstairs without looking back.   
  
Arabella put the empty glass in the sink, smiling softly.  
  
**TBC**


End file.
